The Midnight Hour
by SilverTrain
Summary: Alfred Jones is a normal, midnight-shift DJ for a Denver radio station that he may or may not use to spread his vast love for classic rock. Ok, well, Alfred was not as completely normal as he wants others to believe. He's a werewolf. And being a werewolf has many complications. Especially when you tick off the local vampire Family. And then they get a hunter to eliminate you. RusAm
1. Act I Part I

_OK! So, I decided to write another story that I've been mulling over for awhile now. I'm pretty super excited about it. As you can tell, I can't stay away from the supernatural genre. IT CALLS TO ME. And I love it. I really do hope people enjoy this chapter and look forward to what I plan to do with it... WHO KNOWS IT COULD GO MANY PLACES. Places that I've carefully planned out for myself BUT YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT. But it's sorta kinda based off of Kitty and the Midnight Hour.  
_

_So, the pairing thing, it will end up being RusAme eventually. Slight UKUS in this chapter. I just have to work it up. The building blocks, gears turning and all that. It will happen, be patient. _

_Sad little disclaimer here. It is very sad, and you feel sorry that I own not much at all._

* * *

_Part One_

I tossed my steel grey, ratty backpack covered with all sorts of patches and buttons, wearing my tastes on its threadbare skin, that I've had _forever_ into a corner of the studio and high-fived Roderich on his way out. Well, it was more like I rushed up to him and grabbed his hand and slapped it while he stood in a bit of a shock, but details and all that.

"Ah, Alfred, thanks again for taking the midnight shift," he said a bit awkwardly. Friendly enough guy, but being the more slow paced kind of old fashioned sort of person, he easily got a bit overwhelmed by my high energy and overall exuberance. But that was ok, my puppy-like personality tended to do that to a lot of people. He was basically here on Elizaveta's, our station manager, good graces, as apparently they went way back and she cut Roderich some slack and allowed him to gig here. Roderich had been playing some classical number that made my hackles rise, but I ignored it. Classical music was great and all, but I had a much different view of good classical music that had more to do with guitars.

"Happy to," I bounced back at him.

"I noticed. You didn't used to like the late shift," He said amicably, but with a little hint of suspicion. He was right, though. I'd gone positively nocturnal the last few months. I shrugged, rolling my bright, deep blue eyes. "Things change."

"Well, take it easy." _Finally_, I had the place to myself. I threaded my fingers together and cracked my knuckles before I dimmed the lights so the control board glowed, the dials and switches futuristic and sinister. My smile tugged itself into a larger grin, showing off my pearly whites, the lights glinting off of my specs as I carded my hand through short, choppy golden wheat hair. I was wearing some old whitewash jeans with tears, an oversized sweater that had been strung through the wash a good too many times, and some tatty sneakers. One of the nice things about the late shift at a radio station was that I didn't have to look good for anybody. Not that I made too much of an effort to dress up in the first place unless I knew ahead of time I needed to but, whatever. Details.

I put on the headphones and sat back in the chair with its squeaky wheels and torn upholstery. As soon as I could, I put on _my_ music. Beethoven straight into Steelheart. That'd wake 'em up. To be DJ was the ultimate freedom, like playing God. I controlled the airwaves. To be a DJ at an alternative public radio station? That was being God with a mission. It was thinking you were the first person to discover The Clash and you had to spread the word.

My illusions about the true power of being a radio DJ had pretty much been shattered by this point in time. I'd started on the college radio station, graduated a couple of years ago, and got a gig at KNOB after interning here. I might have had a brain full of philosophical tenets, high ideals, and opinions I couldn't wait to vocalize. But off-campus, no one cared. The world was a bigger place than that, and I was adrift. College was supposed to fix that, wasn't it? I snorted to myself.

I switched on the mike.

"Good evening to you, Denver. This is Alfred on K-Nob. It's twelve 'o twelve in the wee hours and I'm bored. Which means I'm going to regale you with inanities until someone calls and requests something recorded before 1990.

"I have the new issue of _Wide World of News _here. Picked it up when I got my frozen burrito for dinner. Headline says: 'Bat Boy Attacks Convent.' Now, this is like, hold on, the tenth Bat Boy story they've done this year? That kid really gets around- though as long as they've been doing stories on him he's gotta be… what? Fifty? Anyway, as visible as this guy is, at least according to the intrepid staff of _Wide World of News_, I figure somebody out there has seen him. Have any of you seen the Bat Boy? I want to hear about it. The line is open."

Amazingly, I got a call right off. I wouldn't have to beg.

"Hello!"

"Uh, yeah, dude. Hey. Uh, can you play some Lady Gaga?"

"What did I say? Did you hear me? Nothing after '89! Bye!"

Another call was waiting. Double cool. "Hey there."

"Do you believe in vampires?" I paused. Any other DJ would have tossed off a glib response without even thinking- just another midnight weirdo looking for attention. But I knew better.

"If I say yes… will you tell me a good story?"

"So, do you?" The speaker was male, voice clear and steady.

I put my smile into my voice. "Yes."

"The Bat Boy stories, I think they're all just a cover up. All those tabloid stories, and the TV shows like _The Uncharted World_?"

"Yee-ah?"

"Everyone treats them like they're a joke. Too far out, too crazy. Just mindless trash. So if everybody thinks that stuff is a joke, if there is really something out there- no one would believe it."

"Kind of like hiding in plain sight, is that what you're saying? Talk about weird supernatural things just enough to make them look ridiculous and you deflect attention from the truth."

"Yes, that's it."

"So, who exactly is covering up what?"

"_They_ are. The vampires. They're covering up, well, everything. Vampires, werewolves, magic, crop circles-"

"Slow down there, Van Helsing."

"Don't call me that!" He sounded genuinely angry.

"Why not?"

"It's- I'm not anything like him. He was a murderer." The hairs on my arms stood on end. I leaned into the mike. "And what are you?"

He let out a breath that echoed over the phone. "Never mind. I called about the tabloid."

"Yes, Bat Boy." I paused to lean back into my chair and cross my arms behind my head. "You think Bat Boy is a vampire?"

"Maybe not specifically. But before you brush it off, think about what may be really out there."

Actually, I didn't have to. I already knew.

"Thanks for the tip." He hung up.

"What an intriguing call," I said, half to myself, almost forgetting I was on air.

The world he talked about- vampires, werewolves, things that go bump- was a secret one, even to the people who inadvertently found their way there. People fell into it by accident and were left to sink or swim. Usually sink. Once inside, you especially didn't talk about it to outsiders because, well, who would believe you?

But we weren't really _talking _here, were we? It was _late-night radio_. It was a _joke_.

I squared my shoulders, putting my thoughts back in order, shaking myself from the relaxed, whimsical posture I had before: "Right. This raises all sorts of possibilities. I have to know- did I just get a call from some wacko? Or is something really out there? Do you have a story to tell about something that isn't supposed to exist? Call me." I put on White Lion while I waited.

The light on the phone showing an incoming call flashed before the song's first bass chord sounded. I wasn't sure I wanted anyone to call. If I could keep making jokes, I could pretend everything was normal.

I picked up the phone. "Hold please," I said and waited for the song to finish. I took a few breaths, half-hoping that maybe it was just another caller wanting to listen to modern hip-hop.

"Alright, Alfred here."

"Hi- I think I know what that guy's talking about. You know how they say that wolves have been extinct around here for over fifty years? Well- my folks have a cabin up in Nederland, and I swear I've heard wolves howling around there. Every summer I've heard them. I called the wildlife people about it once. But they said the same thing, that they're extinct. I don't believe them. "

"Are you sure they're wolves? Maybe they're coyotes." That was me, trying to act normal. Playing the skeptic. But I'd been to those woods, and I knew she was right. Well, half right.

"I know what coyotes sound like, and it's not anything like that. Maybe… maybe they're something else. Werewolves or something, you know?"

"Have you ever seen them?" I tilted my head as I asked the question, propping my chin on my hand and my elbow on the small flat desk-space in front of me.

"No. I'm kind of afraid to go out there at night."

"That's probably for the best. Thanks for calling!" I exuberantly pressed the end call button, stretching myself, taking a sip from a water bottle I usually had handy with me.

As soon as I hung up, the next call was waiting. "Hello?"

"Hi- do you think that guy was really a vampire?"

"I don't know. Do you think he was?"

"Maybe. I mean, I go to nightclubs a lot, and sometimes people show up there, and they just don't fit. They're, like, way too cool for the place, you know? Like, scary cool, like they should be in Hollywood or something and what are they doing _here_-"

"Grocery shopping?" My mouth quirked into a little smile, elbows on the table, mike in front of me, water bottle casually held in one hand.

"Yeah, exactly!"

"Imagination is a wonderful thing. I'm going to go to the next call now. Hello?"

"Hi- I gotta say, if there were really vampires, don't you think someone would have noticed by now? Bodies with bite marks dumped in alleys-"

"Unless the coroner reports cover up the cause of death-"

The calls just kept coming.

"Just because someone's allergic to garlic doesn't mean-"  
"What is it with blood anyway-"  
"If a girl who's a werewolf got pregnant, what would happen to the baby when she changed into a wolf? Would it change into a wolf cub?"  
"Flea collars. Rabies shots. Do werewolves need rabies shots?"

Then came the Call. Everything changed. I'd been toeing the line, keeping things light. Keeping them unreal. I was trying to be normal, I really was. I worked hard to keep my real life- my day job, so to speak- away from the rest. I'd been trying to keep this from slipping all the way into that other world, a world I still hadn't really learned to live in very well.

Lately it felt like a losing battle.

"Hi, Alfred." His voice was tired, flat. "I'm a vampire. I know you believe me." My belief must have shown through my voice all night. That must have been why he called me.

"Okay."

"Can… can I talk to you about something?"

"Yeah, sure." My curiosity was piqued and my nerves were slightly on edge.

"I'm a vampire. I was attacked and turned involuntarily about five years ago. I'm also- at least, I used to be- a devout Catholic. It's been really… hard. All the jokes about blood and the Eucharist aside… I can't walk into a church anymore. I can't go to Mass. And I can't kill myself because _that's_ wrong. Catholic doctrine teaches that my soul is lost, that I'm a blot on God's creation. But Alfred… that's not what I feel. Just because my heart has stopped beating doesn't mean I've lost my soul, does it?"

I wasn't a minister; I wasn't a psychologist. I'd majored in English, for crying out loud, with a little minor in Drama. I wasn't qualified to counsel anyone on his spiritual life, love life, any kind of life. But my heart went out to him, because he sounded so… lost, losing his hope and faded. All I could do was try.

"You can't exactly go to your local priest to hash this out, can you?"

"No," he said, chuckling a little.

"Right. Have you ever read _Paradise Lost_?"

"Uh, no."

"Of course not, no one reads anymore. _Paradise Lost _is Milton's great epic poem about the war in heaven, the rebellion of the angels, the fall of Lucifer, and the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden. As an aside, some people believe this was the time when vampires and lycanthropes came into existence- Satan's mockery of God's greatest creation. Whatever. At any rate, in the first few chapters, Satan is the hero. He speaks long monologues, what he's thinking, his soul-searching. He's debating about whether or not to take revenge on God for exiling him from heaven. After reading this for awhile, you realize that Satan's greatest sin, his greatest mistake, wasn't pride or rebelling against God. His greatest mistake was believing that God would not forgive him if he asked for forgiveness. His sin wasn't just pride… it was self-pity. I think in some ways every single person, human, vampire, whatever, has a choice to make: to be full of rage about what happens to you or to reconcile with it, to strive for the most honorable existence you can despite the odds. Do you believe in a God who understands and forgives, or one who doesn't? What it comes down to is, this is between you and God, and you'll have to work that out for yourself."

"That… that sounds okay. Thanks. Thanks for talking to me."

"You're welcome." I silently let out a breath I didn't know I was holding and just leaned back, boneless in my chair.

At 4:00 am, the next shift came on. I didn't go straight home and to bed, even though I was shaking. All the talking had taken a lot out of me. After a late shift I always met Mattie for coffee at the diner down the street. He'd be waiting for me. He was practically my only friend, and one who shared my… unfortunate circumstances.

He wasn't there waiting, but I ordered a coffee and when it arrived, so did he. Slouching in a red, overlarge hoodie, glancing around to take note of every person in the place with lavender-grey eyes that had telling circles underneath, he didn't look at me until he slid into the booth.

"Hey, Al." His voice was both rough and light at the same time. Odd, but soothing to me. He flagged down the waitress for a cup of coffee. The sky outside was grey, paling with the sunrise. "How'd your shift go?"

"What, you didn't listen to it?" I tried not to sound disappointed, but I'd been hoping to talk to him about it.

"No, sorry. I was out."

I closed my eyes and took a deep, quiet breath. Grease, cigarette smoke, bad breath, and tired nerves. My senses took it all in, every little odor. But the strongest, right across the booth from me, was the earthy smell of the forest, damp night air, and fur. The faintest touch of blood set my hair on end.

"You went running. You turned wolf," I said, frowning. He looked away, ducking his gaze. "Geez, if you keep doing that, you're going to lose it completely-"

"I know, I know. I'm halfway there already. I just… it feels _so good_." His look grew distant, vacant. Part of him was still in that forest, running wild in the body of his wolf.

The only time we had to Change was on full moon nights. But we could Change whenever we wanted. Some did as often as they could, all the time. And the more they did, the less human they became. They went in packs even as people, living together, shape-shifting and hunting together, cutting all ties to the human world. The more they Changed, the harder it was not to. Some could ignore the call easier than others… some people's wolves were more insistent than others as well. Getting the short end of the stick in both regards could be a nasty situation indeed. My wolf… well… he was _very_ insistent. It took quite a lot to ignore him.

"Come with me next time. Tomorrow." I sighed, I didn't need another knock against my willpower to fend off the Change urges, and Mattie knew that.

"Full moon's not for another week," I said, "I'm trying my damnedest to keep it together. I _like_ being human." He looked away, tapping his fork on the table.

"You really aren't cut out for this life, you know." _But you could be_, was left out, tangible in the air between us. I'd been down this road with Mattie hundreds of times, starting from practically the day after Mattie had been with me through my first Change. My wolf was powerful. Defiant. Stronger than most of the pack. Mattie had told me once, in hushed tones, that maybe I was even stronger than our Alpha. Even now, Mattie, the second, rarely ever felt inclined to actually look me in the eyes. To challenge. Mattie's wolf thrummed with excitement at the thought of hunting with my wolf.

But I didn't want it. I didn't want the pack, I didn't want to be a part of this mad cycle of dominance and submission, and I had never _asked_ to become a werewolf. I wasn't given a choice. And that mattered more to me than anything. And so I fought against it. Did everything I could to stay human, to stay above the water level. Because I knew that if I ever went under, really _gave in_… I'd probably never make it back up to the surface. My wolf would pull me down and hold me under. It was an almost constant struggle. Both of us wanted to be out, in control, and free.

I stayed mostly out of sight and out of mind of the Alpha and those higher up in the pack hierarchy and never picked fights. I was relatively the newest member, and I'd just never felt inclined to try and move up the ranks. Made it clear that I wasn't in the pack for status. It was more of a haven. A place I didn't have to worry about my werewolf 'problem' getting out of hand.

"I do okay."

That was me, patting myself on the back for not going stark raving mad these last couple of years, since the attack that changed me, since the wolf started breathing down my back. Or not getting myself ripped limb from limb by other werewolves who saw a barely grown into his fur newbie as easy prey. All that, and I maintained a semblance of a normal human life as well.

Well, not much of a human life, all things considered. I had a rapidly decaying bachelor's degree from CU, a run-down studio apartment, a two-bit DJ gig that barely paid rent, and no prospects. Sometimes… running off to the woods and never coming back sounded… great. And, as half of me was feral, a hard possibility to stay away from.

Three months ago, I missed my mother's birthday party because it fell on the night of the full moon. I couldn't be there, smiling and sociable in my folks' suburban home in Aurora, not while the wolf part of me was on the verge of tearing himself out of me, fighting and clawing, pushing his consciousness in front of mine, gnawing at the last fringes of my self-control. I made some excuse, and Mom said she understood. But it showed so clearly how, in an argument between the two halves, the wolf usually won. Since then, maintaining enthusiasm for the human life had been difficult. Sometimes, even felt useless. I started to sleep through the day and work nights. I'd catch myself thinking, lingering more and more about those times I ran in the forest as a wolf, with the rest of the pack surrounding me. I was on the verge of trading one family for another. My wolf was wearing me thin.

Mattie and I had parted ways and I'd gone home, slept, and rolled back to KNOB toward evening. Elizaveta, the station manager, a sort of hippie vegetarian woman, but with good fashion sense and an iron fist, who wasn't afraid to use violence to keep the peace, handed me a stack of papers. Phone messages, every one of them.

"Uh, what's this?" I asked, staring.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. What in the hell happened on your shift last night? We've been getting calls all day. The line was busy all night. And the messages… Six people claiming to be vampires, two say they're werewolves, and one wants to know if you could recommend a good exorcist."

"Really?" I asked, sorting through the messages.

"Yeah. Really. But what I _really_ want to know…" She paused, and I wondered how much trouble I was in. I was _supposed_ to run a late-night variety music format, the kind of show were Velvet Underground followed Ella Fitzgerald. Thinking back on it, I'd talked the entire time, hadn't I? I'd turned it into a talk show. I was going to lose my job, and… did I really have the strength to go out and have the initiative to get another one…? I could run into the woods and let the Wolf take over…

Then Eliza said, "Whatever you did last night- can you do it again?"

The second episode of the show that came to be called _The Midnight Hour_ (I would always consider that first surprising night to be the first episode) aired a week later. That gave me time to do some research. I dug up half a dozen articles published in second-string medical journals and one surprisingly high-level government research project, a kind of medical Project Blue Book. It was a study on "paranormal biology" sponsored by the National Institutes of Health and the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Researchers attempted to document empirical evidence of the existence of creatures such as vampires, lycanthropes, etcetera. They more than attempted it- they _did_ document it: photos, charts, case histories, statistics. They concluded that these phenomena were not widespread enough to warrant government attention.

The documentation didn't surprise me- there wasn't anything there I hadn't seen before, in one form or another. It surprised me that anyone from the supernatural underworld would have participated in such a study. Where had they gotten test subjects? The study didn't say much about those subjects, seemingly regarding them in the same way one would disposable lab rats. This raised a whole other set of issues, which gave me lots to talk about.

Pulling all this together, at least part of the medical community was admitting to the existence of people like me. I started the show by laying out all this information. Then I opened the line for calls.

"It's a government conspiracy…"  
"… because the Senate is run by bloodsucking fiends!"  
"Which doesn't in fact mean they're vampires, but still…"  
"So when is the NIH going to go public…"  
"… medical schools running secret programs…"  
"Is the public really ready for…"  
"… a more enlightened time, surely we wouldn't be hunted down like animals…"  
"Would lycanthropy victims be included in the Americans with Disabilities Act?"

My time slot flew by. The week after that, my callers and I speculated about which historical figures had been secret vampires or werewolves. My favorite, suggested by an intrepid caller: General William T. Sherman was a werewolf. I looked him up, and seeing his photo, I could believe it. All other Civil War generals were strait-laced, with buttoned collars and trimmed beards, but Sherman had an open collar, scruffy hair, five-o'clock shadow, and the screw-you expression. Oh yeah. The week after that I handled a half-dozen calls on how to tell your family you were a vampire or a werewolf. I didn't have any good answers on that one- I hadn't even told my own family. Being a radio DJ was already a little too weird for them.

And so on. I'd been doing the show for two months when Elizaveta called me at home.

"Alfred, you gotta get down here."

"Why?"

"Just get down here!"

I pondered a half-dozen nightmare scenarios. I was being sued for something I'd said on the air. The Baptist Church had announced a boycott. Well, that could be a good thing. Free publicity and all. Or someone had gone and got themselves or someone else killed because of the show.

It took half an hour to get there, riding the bus. I hadn't showered and was feeling grouchy. Whatever it was Eliza was going to throw at me, I just wanted to get it over with.

The door to her office was open. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket and slouched. "Elizaveta?"

She didn't look up from the mountains of paper, books, and newspapers spread over her desk. A radio in the corner was turned to KNOB. A news broadcast mumbled at low volume. "Come in, shut the door."

I did. "What's wrong?"

She looked up. "Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Here, take a look at this." She offered me a packet of papers. The pages were dense with print and legalese. These were contacts. I only caught one word before my eyes fogged over.

Syndication.

When I looked at Eliza again, her hands were folded on the desk and she was grinning. That was a pretty big canary she'd just eaten, for a vegetarian and all. "What do you think? I've had calls from a dozen stations wanting to run your show. I'll sign on as producer. You'll get a raise for every new market we pick up. Are you in?"

This was big. This was going national, at least on a limited scale. I tried to read the proposal. L.A. They wanted me in L.A.? This was… unbelievable. I sat against the table and started chuckling uncontrollably. Wow. Wow wow wow wow wow. There was no way I could do this. That would require responsibility, commitment- things I'd shied away from like the plague since… since I'd started hanging out with people like Mattie.

But if I didn't, someone else would, now that the radio community had gotten the idea. And dammit, this was _my_ baby.

I said, "I'm going to need a website."

That night I went to Mattie's place, a shack he rented behind a carpenter garage out toward Arvada. Mattie didn't have a regular job. He did all sorts of carpentry projects for cash and didn't sweat the human world most of the time. I came over for supper a couple of times a week. He was an okay cook, his real time to shine was breakfast pancakes. More important than his cooking ability, however, was that he was able to indulge the appetite for barely cooked steaks.

I'd known Mattie forever, it'd seemed like. He helped me out when I was new to things, more than anyone else in the local pack. He'd become my friend. He wasn't a bully- a lot of people used being a werewolf as an excuse for behaving badly. I felt more comfortable around him than just anyone. I didn't have to pretend to be human around him.

I found him in the shed outside. He was working on one of his various wood-sculpting projects. This time, it was a decent sized cutting of a bear. Last time, I got a good kick out of the giant life-sized moose that Mattie had been commissioned to carve, wanting to get up on its back and do pretend stuff, but Mattie had shut me down pretty quick, since it was a precious art piece and all. Mattie turned to me and reached out to give me a hug, woodchips and all.

"You're perky," he said, arching an eyebrow, "You're practically glowing."

"We're syndicating the show! They're going to broadcast in L.A., can you believe that? I'm syndicated!" I spoke, bouncing around like a puppy.

He smiled. "Good for you."

"I want to celebrate," I said. "I want to go out. I found this all-ages hole-in-the-wall and the vampires don't go there. Will you come with me?"

"I thought you didn't like going out. You don't like it when we go out with Arthur and the pack."

Arthur… was the alpha male of our pack, god and father by any other name. He was the glue that held the local werewolves together. He protected us, and we were loyal to him.

When Arthur went out with his pack, he did it to mark territory, metaphorically speaking. Show off the strength of the pack in front of the local vampire Family. Pissing contests and dominance games. Whatever.

"That's not any fun. I want to have _fun_."

"You know you ought to tell Arthur, if you want to go out." I frowned.

"He'll tell me not to," I half mumbled, a pout starting to form. A pack of wolves was a show of strength. One or two wolves alone were vulnerable. But I wanted this to be _my_ celebration, a human celebration. Not the pack's. But the thing about being part of a pack was needing a friend at your back. It wouldn't have felt right for me to go alone. I needed Mattie. And maybe Mattie needed Arthur.

I tried one more time, shameless begging, but I had no dignity. "Come on! What could possibly happen? Just a couple of hours. Please?"

Mattie sighed and started brushing off chips from his hair and clothes. He smirked at me like the indulgent older brother he'd become. If I'd been a wolf, my tail would have been wagging hopefully.

"Okay. I'll go with you. Just for a couple of hours." I sighed, relieved.

The club, Livewire, got a deal on the back rooms of a converted warehouse at the edge of Lodo, just a few blocks from Coors Field, when the downtown district was at the start of its "revitalization" phase. It didn't have a flashy marquee. The entrance was around the corner from the main drag, a garage-type rolling door that used to be a part of a loading dock. Inside, the girders and venting were kept exposed. Techno and industrial pouring through the woofers rumbled the walls, audible outside as a vibration. That was the only sign there was anything here. Vampires liked to gather at places that had lines out the front- trendy, flashy places that attracted the kind of trendy, flashy people they could impress and seduce with their excessive sense of style.

I didn't have to dress up. I wore grubby, faded jeans, a non-descript black tee-shirt with a jacket thrown over it. I planned on dancing till my bones hurt. Unfortunately, Mattie was acting like a bodyguard. His expression was relaxed enough, and he walked with his hands in his jacket pockets like nothing was wrong, but he was looking all around and his nostrils flared, taking in scents.

"This is it," I said, guiding him to the door of the club. He stepped around me so he could enter first. There was always- would always be- a part of me that walked into a crowded room and immediately thought, _sheep_. Prey. A hundred bodies pressed together, young hearts beating, filled with blood, running hot. I squeezed my hands into fists. I could rip into any of them. I could. I took a deep breath and let that knowledge fade, though the wolf in the back of my head remained ever present.

I smelled sweat, perfume, alcohol, cigarettes. Some darker things: Someone nearby had recently just shot up on heroin. I felt the tremor in his heartbeat, smelled the poison on his skin. If I concentrated, I could hear individual conversations happening in the bar, ten paces away. The music flowed through my shoes. Sisters of Mercy was playing.

"I'm going to dance," I said to Mattie, who was just surveying the room.

"I'm going to go grab something to drink," he said as he moved himself towards the bar. I wasn't too worried about him, though. It took a lot, lot more to get a werewolf drunk than a human. I briefly thought about trying to scope out a potential night fling, but thought better of it. For one thing, I had Mattie to consider, and for another, having sex with a werewolf wasn't exactly… healthy for humans. If I lost control at any point in time, I could go into a frenzy and maybe potentially hurt my partner. Female or male, top or bottom, it didn't matter. A werewolf's strength was nothing to mess around with.

That being said, I'd been pretty much celibate ever since I'd become one. Werewolves and sexuality were just as varied as humans were (humans were changed to werewolves, after all) and though a lot of animal instinct was ingrained, sexual instinct had no gender preference, only the preference of the individual, coupled with desire. I'd experimented plenty during college, and there were things about both genders that I liked. But I really didn't want to subject myself and anyone else into all of this, so I rather just decided not to risk anything.

I was a radio DJ before I became a werewolf. I'd always loved dancing, sweating out the beat of the music. I joined the press of bodies pulsing on the dance floor, not as a monster with thoughts of slaughter, but as me. I hadn't been really dancing in a club like this since the attack, when I became what I am. Years. Crowds were hard to handle sometimes. But when the music was loud, when I was anonymous in a group, I stopped worrying, stopped caring, lived the moment.

Letting the music guide me, I closed my eyes. I sensed everybody around me, every beating heart. I took it all in, joy filling me. In the midst of the sweat and heat, I smelled something cold. A dark point cut through the crowd like a ship through water, and people- warm, living bodies- fell away like waves in its wake. Werewolves, even in human form, retain some of the abilities of their alter egos. Smell, hearing, strength, agility. We can smell well enough to identify and individual across a room, in a crowd. Before I could turn and run, the vampire stood before me, blocking my path. When I tried to duck away, he was in front of me, moving quickly, gracefully, without a sign of effort.

My breaths became fast as he pushed me to the edge of panic.

He was part of the local vampire Family, I assumed. He seemed young, cocky, his red silk shirt open at the collar, his smirk unwavering. He opened his lips just enough to show the points of his fangs.

"We don't want your kind here." Wiry and feral, he had a manic _Clockwork Orange_ feel to him. I looked across the room to find Mattie. Two more of them, impeccably dressed in silk shirts and tailored slacks and oozing cold, blocked him in the corner. Mattie's fists were clenched. He caught my gaze and set his jaw in grim reassurance. I had to trust him to get me out of this, but he was too far away to help me.

"I thought you guys didn't like this place," I said.

"We changed our minds. And you're trespassing."

"No." I growled a little under my breath. I had wanted to leave this _behind_ for a few hours! I glared, shaking. A predator had me in his sights, and I wanted to fight, to flee, my primal instincts sharper with the threat and my nerves. I didn't dare look away from the vampire, but another scent caught my attention. Something animal, a hint of fur and musk underneath normal human smells. Werewolf.

Arthur didn't hesitate. He just stepped into the place the vampire had been occupying, neatly displacing him before the vampire knew what happened.

Our slight commotion made the vampires blocking Mattie turn. Mattie, who could hold his own in a straight fight, elbowed his way between them and strode towards us.

Arthur grabbed my upper arm. "Let's go outside."

He was about five-six but had the presence of someone over six foot tall. His narrowed acid green eyes practically screamed "Alpha, BACK OFF" to anyone that made eye contact, as he almost perpetually glared. He'd been around a lot longer than I or Mattie, so he had experience as well. For all my strength, I doubted I had the confidence or the skill to actually fight Arthur, no matter what Mattie had said. He was ferocious in the way a pit bull was, short but intimidating and an iron bear trap for a jaw that wouldn't let go. Ever. That was Arthur. Even as clean shaven as he was, there was still a wild element about his scruffy sandy blond hair and a slight feral gleam in his eyes. Even if I didn't know what he was, I'd have picked him out of a lineup as most likely to be a werewolf. He had this… _look_. But I also could be biased, as Arthur's authority washed over any and all werewolves in the pack and sent them groveling.

I made a little surprised noise as he wrenched me toward the door. I scurried to stay on my feet, but I had trouble keeping up. It looked like he dragged me, but I hardly noticed, I was too numb with relief that the vampire was gone and we were leaving.

A bouncer blocked our way at the passage leading from the dance floor to the main entrance. He was much taller that Arthur, a bit taller than me, in fact, and I was just an inch or two shy of six feet, all muscle. But none of that mattered at all. Poor guy had no idea that Arthur could rip his face off if he decided to.

"This guy bothering you?" the bouncer said to me. Arthur's hand tensed on my upper arm.

"It's none of your concern." Frowning, the bouncer looked at me for confirmation. He was judging this based on human sensibilities. He saw two guys herding a younger one off the dance floor and out the door. It probably looked a lot like trouble. But this was different. Sort of.

I squared my shoulders and settled my breathing. "Everything's fine. Thanks."

The bouncer stepped aside. Joining us, Mattie followed us down the passage and out the door. Outside, we walked down a side street, around the corner and into an alley, out of sight of the people who were getting air outside the club. There, Arthur pinned me against the brick wall, hands planted on either side of my head.

"What the hell are you doing out where they could find you?"

I assumed he meant the vampires. My heart pounded, my voice was tight and with Arthur looming at me I couldn't calm down. My breaths came out as gasps. He was so close, the heat of him pressed against me, and I was on the verge of losing it. I wanted to hug him, cling to him until he isn't angry at me anymore.

"It was just for a little while. I just wanted to go out. They weren't supposed to be here." I looked away, distress mounting on my face. "Matthew was with me. And they weren't supposed to be here."

"Don't argue with me," Arthur growled.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry." It was so hard groveling upright, without a tail to stick between my legs. Mattie stood a couple feet away, leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed, his shoulders hunched.

"It's my fault," he said, "I told him it was okay."

"When did you start handing out permission?" Arthur turned his gaze to Mattie now, but didn't budge from his stance. I was actually starting to slouch a bit, trying to lower myself so that I wasn't taller, wasn't in any way shape or form trying to challenge him. Mattie looked away. Arthur was the only one that could make him look sheepish. "Sorry."

"You should have called me."

I was still trying to catch my breath. "How… how did you know where to find us?" Arthur looked at Mattie, who was scuffing his boot on the asphalt. "I left him a note."

I closed my eyes, defeated, but a bit of human defiance, and maybe a bit of wolf too, slipping out. "Can't we do anything without telling Arthur?"

Arthur growled. Human vocal cords could growl. The guys in pro-wrestling did it all the time. But they didn't mean it like Arthur meant it. When he growled, it was like his wolf was trying to climb out of his throat to bite my face off.

"Nope," Mattie said.

"Matthew, go home. Alfred and I are going to have a little talk. I'll take care of you later."

"Yes, sir."

Mattie caught my gaze for a moment, gave me a "buck up" expression, nodded at Arthur, and walked down the street. Arthur put his hand behind my neck and steered me the opposite direction.

This was supposed to be _my_ night!

Usually, I melted around Arthur. His personality was such that it subsumed everyone around him- at least, everyone in the pack. All I ever wanted to do was make him happy, so that he'd love me. But right now, I was angry.

I couldn't remember when I'd ever been more angry than scared. It was an odd feeling, a battle of emotions and animal instinct that expressed itself in action: fight or flight. I'd always run, groveled. The hair on my arms, the back of my neck, prickled, and a deep memory of thick fur awakened.

His car was parked around the corner. He guided me to the passenger seat. Then, he drove.

"I had a visit from Francis."

Francis was Master of the local vampire Family. He kept the vampires in line like Arthur kept the werewolves in line, and as long as the two groups stayed in their territories and didn't harass each other, they existed peacefully. Mostly. If Francis approached Arthur, it meant he had a complaint.

"What's wrong?"

"He wants you to quit your show." He glared straight ahead.

I flushed. I should have known something like this would happen. Things were going so well.

"I can't quit the show. We're expanding. Syndication. It's a huge opportunity, I can't pass it up-"

"You can if I tell you to."

I tiredly rubbed my face, hand underneath my glasses to reach my eyes, unable to think of any solution that would let us both have our way. I willed my eyes to clear and made sure my voice sounded steady.

"Then you think I should quit, too."

"He says some of his people have been calling you for advice instead of going to him. It's a challenge to his authority. He has a point."

Wow, Arthur and Francis agree on something. It was a great day for supernatural diplomacy. All it involved was a little bit of throwing me under the bus.

"Then he should tell off his people and not blame it on me-"

"Alfred."

I slouched in the seat and pouted like a little kid.

"He's also worried about exposure. He thinks you're bringing too much attention to us. All it takes is one televangelist or radical right/left-wing senator calling a witch hunt, and people will come looking for us."

"Come on, 90 percent of the people out there think the show's a joke."

He spared a moment out of his driving to glare at me.

"We've kept to ourselves and kept the secret for a long time. Francis longer than most. You can't expect him to think your show was a good idea."

"Why did he talk to you and not me?"

"Because, it's my job to keep you on your leash."

"Leash or choke collar? Sorry." I blurted both the defiant statement and the apology without thinking. Part of me was still a willful, headstrong young guy and the other was a wolf doing everything it could to appease his Alpha. Sometimes, it wasn't even as straightforward as that, and I didn't know whether it was me or the wolf trying to be appeasing, or if it was me or the wolf trying to be defiant and break out from Arthur.

"You need to quit the show," he said. His hands clenched the steering wheel.

"You always do what Francis tells you to?" Sad, that this was the best argument that I could think of. Arthur wouldn't want to think he was making Francis happy.

"It's too dangerous."

"For who? For Francis? For you? For the pack?"

"Is it so unbelievable that I might have your best interest in mind? Francis may be overreacting, but you are bringing a hell of a lot of exposure on yourself. If a fanatic out there decides you're a minion of evil, walks into your studio with a gun-"

"He'd need silver bullets."

"If he thinks this show is for real, he just might have them."

"It won't happen, Arthur. I'm not telling anyone what I am."

"And how long will that last?" Arthur didn't like the show because he didn't have any control over it. It was all mine. I was supposed to be all his. I'd never argued with him like this before. I looked out the window.

"I get a raise for every new market that picks up the show. It's not much right now, but if this takes off, it could be a lot. Half of its yours."

The engine hummed; the night rolled by the windows, detail lost in the darkness. I didn't even have to think about how much I'd give up to keep the show. The realization came like something of an epiphany. I'd give Arthur _all_ the syndication bonus to keep doing the show. I'd grovel at his feet every day if he wanted me to.

I had to hold on to the show. It was _mine_. I was proud of it. It was important. I'd never done anything important before.

He took a long time to answer. Each moment, hope made the knot in my throat tighter. Surely if he was going to say no, he wouldn't have to think this hard.

"Okay," he said at last, "But I might still change my mind."

"That's fair." I felt like I'd just run a race, I was so wrung out. He drove us twenty minutes out of town, to the open space and private acreage that skirted the foothills along Highway 93 to the west. This was the heart of the pack's territory. Some of the wolves in the pack owned houses out here. The land was isolated and safe for us to run through. There weren't any streetlights. The sky was overcast. Arthur parked on a dead-end dirt road. We walked into the first of the hills, away from the road and residences.

If I thought our discussion was over, I was wrong. We'd only hashed out half of the issue. The human half.

"Change," he said.

The full moon was still a couple of weeks away. I didn't like shape-shifting voluntarily at other times. I didn't like giving in to the urge. It only gave my already hard to handle wolf that much more of an edge on me. I hesitated, but Arthur was stripping, already shifting as he did, his back bowed, limbs stretching, fur rippling.

Why couldn't he just let it go? My anger grew when it should have subsided and given way to terror. Arthur would assert his dominance, and I was probably going to get hurt. But for the first time, I was angry enough that I didn't care.

I couldn't fight him. Though he was a little less than half my size, he made up for with just the sheer amount of experience he had over me. He'd been around this game a lot longer than I have. Brute strength only got someone so far. My wolf had intuition, instinct, but so did his. My power was more, but his wolf was used to leading, dominating, having others submit. Mine was not. I was so careful not to transform unless full moon, to not get in fights, to basically avoid all but mandatory interaction with the pack, with the sole exception of the easygoing Mattie, who I was supremely grateful for.

Even if I'd had any clue what to do, I'd probably still lose. So, I ran. I pulled off my shirt, paused to shove my jeans and briefs down to my feet, dropping my glasses down with them, jumped out of them, and Changed, stretching so I'd be running before the fur had stopped growing. If I didn't think about it too much, it didn't hurt that badly.

_Hands thicken, claws sprout, think about flowing water so Wolf doesn't feel bones slide under skin, joints and muscles molding themselves into something else. Wolf crouches, breathing deep through bared teeth. Teeth and face growing longer, and the hair, and the eyes. The night becomes so clear, seen through the Wolf's eyes. Then, he leaps, the Wolf is formed and running, four legs feel so natural, so splendid, pads barely touching soft earth before they fly again. Wind rushes through his fur like fingers, scent pours into his nose: trees, earth, decay, life, water, day-old tracks, hour-old tracks, spent rifle cartridges from last season, blood, pain, his pack. Pack's territory. And the One. The Leader. Right behind him, chasing. Wrong, fleeing him. But fleeing is better than fighting, and the urge to fight is strong. Will be killed if he doesn't say he's sorry. But Wolf is sorry; He'd do anything for Leader. Run, but Leader's faster. Leader catches. Wolf stumbles, struggling, fear. Leader holds fast with teeth, fangs dig into Wolf's shoulder and he yelps. Using the grip as purchase, Leader claws his way to Wolf's throat, and Wolf is on his back, belly exposed. Leader's control ensures he never breaks Wolf's skin. Wolf falls still, whining with every breath, stretching his head back, exposing his throat. Leader could kill him now. Leader's jaw closes around his neck and stays there. Slowly, only after he's stayed frozen for ages, he lets Wolf loose. Wolf stays still, except to lick Leader's chin. "You are God," the action says. Wolf crawls on his belly after him, because he loves him. They hunt, and Wolf shows him he his God by waiting to feed on the rabbit until Leader gives permission. Leader leaves him skin and bones to lick and suck but Wolf is satisfied._

I awoke human in the grey of dawn. The Wolf lingered, bleeding into my awareness, and I let it fill my mind because its instincts were better than mine, especially were the One was concerned.

_Wolf lies naked in the den, Alfred's body sticking to his fur, a covered hillock that is Leader's place when he sleeps off his Wolf. Leader is there, too, also naked, and aroused. He nibble's Alfred's ear, licks Alfred's jaw, sucks Alfred's throat and pulls himself on top of Alfred's body, leveraging Alfred's legs apart with his weight. Wolf moans and lets him in; he pushes slowly, gently. This is what Wolf lives for- his attention, his adoration. Speaking in his ear he says, "I'll take care of you, and you don't ever need to grow up. Understand?" "Yes. Oh, yes." He comes, forcing Wolf against the earth, and Wolf clings to him and slips away, and _I am me again.

I guess I should revise my earlier declaration of celibacy. The only exception is, of course Arthur. Alpha's prerogative: He fucks whomever he wants in the pack, whenever he wants. One of the perks of the position. It was also one of the reasons I melted around him. He just had to walk in the room and I'd be hot and bothered, ready to do anything for him, if he would just touch me. With the scent of him and the wolves all around us, I felt wild.

I curled against his body, and he held me close, my protector.

I needed the pack, because I couldn't protect myself. In the wild, wolf cubs had to be taught how to hunt, how to fight. No one had taught me. Maybe, Mattie might have, but in the end, he was loyal to Arthur. Arthur was Alpha. And Arthur wanted me to be dependent. So Mattie did nothing. I wasn't expected to hunt for myself, or help defend the pack. I had no responsibilities, as long as I deferred to Arthur. As long as I stayed a cub, he would look after me.

The next afternoon at the studio, I jumped at every shadow. Every noise that cracked made me flinch and turn to look. Broad daylight, and I still expected vampires to crawl through the windows, coming after me.

I really didn't think anyone took the show that seriously. _I _didn't take it that seriously half the time. If Francis really wanted me to quit the show, and I didn't, there'd be trouble. I didn't know what kind of trouble, but one way or another it would filter back to me. Next time, he and his cronies might not bother going through Arthur as intermediary. He'd take his complaint straight to me. I walked around wishing I had eyes in the back of my head. And all sides. I contemplated the fine line between caution and paranoia.

Arthur might not always be there to look after me. He couldn't come to work with me.

I found Antonio, the show's sound engineer, as he came back from supper. One of the benefits of my newfound success: Someone else could pay attention to make sure the right public service announcement played at the right time. He was laid-back, another intern turned full-timer, and always seemed to have a friend who could do exactly the job you needed doing.

"Hey, Antonio- do you know anyone that teaches a good self-defense class?"

* * *

_So, a quick little explanation about the wolf segment. It was meant to be written kinda rushed and flow like that... and also, the second part, with the whole repetition of Alfred and whatnot. I wanted to make a clear distinction that the Wolf knew it was Alfred's body and that it was different from it's own and that he was awake/conscious inside of it. So yeah, there is that, in case anyone is like "Why are you saying his name so much it looks bad, etcetera." It was meant to be that way!_

_I thank anyone that decided to actually look at this and read all the way to the bottom. Hopefully you're reading this right now? Likes, follows, and reviews are appreciated, I do like knowing if I'm doing a good job or not. I just generally enjoy knowing other people's opinions._


	2. Act I Part II

_Okay. So my lovelies. The next chapter to my story. I thank those that took the time to read my first chapter, to fav or follow or review. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and this is the next exciting installment! I wish I could add three things to the genre, because as much Supernatural and (eventually) romance, it has suspense too. I'd have liked to have added that. But whatever. I guess if you too the time to read this little Author Note then you'd get to know I wanted it. Super secret info. Well, anyways, on with it!_

_Disclaimer: Do not own. You know this, right?_

* * *

_Part Two_

"I'm Alfred Jones and you're listening to _The Midnight Hour_, the show that isn't afraid of the dark or the creatures who live there. Our first call tonight comes from Oakland. Marie, hello."

"Hi, Alfred. Thank you for taking my call."

"You're welcome. You have a question?"

"Well, it's a problem, really…"

"Alright, shoot."

"It's about my Master. I mean, for the most part I have no complaints. He's _really_ sexy, and rich, you know? I get lots of perks like nice clothes and jewelry and stuff. But- there are a couple of things that make me uncomfortable."

I winced. "Marie, just so we're clear: You're human?"

"Yeah."

"And you willingly enslaved yourself to a vampire, as his human servant?"

"Well, yeah."

She certainly wasn't the first. "And now you're unhappy because…?"

"It isn't how I thought it would be." And Marie certainly wasn't the first to discover this.

"Let me guess: There's a lot more blood involved than you thought there would be. He makes you clean up after feeding orgies, doesn't he?"

"Oh, no, the blood doesn't bother me at all. It's just that, well… he doesn't drink from my neck. He prefers drinking from my thigh."

"And you're quibbling? You must have lovely thighs." Vampires only settled for the best, after all.

"It's supposed to be the neck. In all the stories, it's the neck."

"There are some vampire legends where the vampire tears out the heart and laps up the blood. Be happy you didn't hook up with one of those."

"And he doesn't wear silk." What could I say? The poor girl had her illusions shattered.

"Does he make you eat houseflies?"

"No-"

"Marie, if you present your desires as a request, not a demand- make it sound as attractive as you think it is- your Master may surprise you. Buy him a silk shirt for his birthday, hm?"

"Okay. I'll try. Thanks, Alfred."

"Good luck, Marie. Next caller, Pete, you're on the air."

"I'm a werewolf trapped in a human body." I sighed, having a good idea of what this guy was all about.

"Well, yeah, that's kind of the definition." I gave a roll of the eyes, even though I knew he wouldn't see it.

"No, really. I'm _trapped_."

"Oh? When was the last time you shape-shifted?"

"That's just it- I've never shape-shifted."

"So, you're not really a werewolf." Damn, someone give me a medal. I'm prophetic.

"Not yet. But I was meant to be one. I just know it. How do I get a werewolf to attack me?" I hoped deadpan glare I was sending telepathically to this guy was getting to him. Hopefully in the form of a migraine or aneurism.

"Stand in the middle of a forest under a full moon with a raw steak tied to your face, holding up a sign that says 'Eat me; I'm stupid'?"

"No, I'm _serious_."

"So am I! Listen, you do _not_ want to be attacked by a werewolf. You do not want to _be_ a werewolf. You may _think_ you do, but let me explain you a thing: Lycanthropy is a disease. It's a chronic, life-altering disease that has _no cure_. Its victims may learn to live with it- some of them better than others- but it prevents them from living a normal life ever again. It greatly increases your odds of dying prematurely and horribly."

"But I want fangs and claws. I want to hunt a deer with my bare hands. That would be so cool!"

I rubbed my forehead and sighed. I got at least one of these calls every show. If I could convince just one of these jokers that being a werewolf was not all that cool, I'd consider the show a success.

"It's a lot different when you hunt a deer not because you want to but because you _have _to. Because of your innate bloodlust, and because if you didn't hunt deer you'd be hunting _people_. And that would get you in trouble. How do you feel about hunting people, Pete? How about _eating_ people?"

"Um… I would get used to it?"

"You'd get people with silver bullets gunning for you. For the last time I do _not_ advocate lycanthropy as a lifestyle choice. Next!"

"Um, yeah. Hi."

"Hello."

"I have a question for you. Werewolves and vampires- we're stronger than humans. What's to stop us from, oh, I don't know… robbing banks? The police can't stop us. Regular bullets don't work. So why aren't more of us out there wreaking havoc?"

"Human decency," I said without thinking.

"But we're not-"

"Human? Do you really believe that you're not human?"

"Well, no. How can I be?"

I crossed my arms and sighed. "The thing I keep hearing from all people I talk to is that despite what they are and what they can do, they still want to be part of human society. Society has benefits, even for them. So they take part in the social contract. They agree to live by human rules. Which means they don't go around 'wreaking havoc.' And that's why, ultimately, I think we can all find a way to live together." Wow. I shock myself sometimes with how reasonable I made all this sound. I might even have believed it. No, I _had_ to believe it, or I wouldn't be doing the show.

The caller hesitated before saying, "So I tell you I'm a werewolf, and you tell me that you think I'm human?" He couldn't know that he was basically asking me to label myself.

"Yes. And if you live in the human world, you have to live by human laws." The trick with this show was confidence. I only had to _sound_ like I knew what I was talking about.

"Yeah, well, thanks."

"Thanks for calling. Hello, Toris, you're on air."

"I have a question, Alfred." His voice came low and muffled, like he was speaking too close to the handset.

"Okay."

"Does a werewolf need to be in a pack? Can't he just be on his own?" A sense of longing tainted the question. As of late, I could understand the feeling.

"I suppose, theoretically, a werewolf doesn't need a pack. Why do you ask?"

"Curious. Just curious. It seems like no one on your show ever talks about being a werewolf without a pack. Do they?"

"You're right, I don't hear much about werewolves without hearing about packs. I think-" and this was where the show got tricky: How much could I talk about without bringing up personal experience, without giving something away? "I think packs are important to werewolves. They offer safety, protection, a social group. Also control. They're not going to want a rogue wolf running around making a mess of things and drawing attention to the rest of them. A pack is a way to keep tabs on all the lycanthropes in an area. Same thing with vampire Families."

"But just because a werewolf is on his own doesn't mean he's automatically going to go out and start killing people. Does it?" The guy was tense. Even over the phone I could hear an edge to his voice.

"What do you think, Toris?"

"I don't know. That's why I called you. You're always talking about how anybody, even monsters, can choose what they do, can choose whether or not they're going to let their natures control them, or rise above all that. But can we really? Maybe… maybe if I don't have a pack… if I don't want to have anything to do with a pack… maybe that's my own way of taking control. I'm not giving in. I don't have to be like that. I can survive on my own. Can't I? Can't I?"

I couldn't do it. From that night I was attacked until now, someone- Mattie, Arthur, or somebody- had been there to tell me I was going to be ok, that I had friends. They helped me keep control. They gave me a place to go when I felt like losing it. I didn't have to worry about hurting them. If I didn't have that, what would I do? I'd be alone. How many people were there- people like Toris, who didn't have packs or Families or anything- how many of them were listening to my show and thinking I had all the answers? That wasn't what I'd planned when I started this.

Had there _been_ a plan when I started this?

Who was I to think I could actually help some of these people? I couldn't get along without my pack. Maybe Toris was different.

"I don't know, Toris. I don't know anything about your life. If you want me to sit here and validate you, tell you that yeah, you're right, you don't need a pack and everything's going to be okay, I can't do that. I don't have the answers. I can only go by what I hear and think. Look at your life and decide if you're happy with it. If you can live with it and the people around you can live with it, fine, great, you don't need a pack. If you're not happy, decide why that is and do something about it. Maybe a pack would help, maybe not. This is a strange, strange world we're talking about. It'd be stupid to think that one rule applies to everyone." I waited a couple of heartbeats. I could hear his breathing over the line. "Toris, you okay?"

Another heartbeat of pause. "Yeah."

"I'm going to the next call now. Keep your chin up and take it one day at a time."

"Okay, Alfred. Thanks." Please, please, _please_ let the next call be an easy one. I let hit the phone line.

"You're on the air."

"Hi, Alfred. So, I've been a lycanthrope for about six years now, and I think I've adjusted pretty well. I get along with my pack and all."

"Good, good."

"But I don't know if I can talk to them about this. See, I've got this rash…"

I had an office. Not a big office. More like a closet with a desk. But I had my own telephone. I had business cards. _Alfred F. Jones, The Midnight Hour, KNOB_. There was a time just a few months ago when I'd assumed I would never have a real job. Now I did. Business cards. Who'd have guessed?

The show aired once a week, but I worked almost every day. Afternoons and evenings, mostly, in keeping with the nocturnal schedule I'd adopted. I spent an unbelievable amount of time dealing with organizational crap; setting up guest interviews, running damage control, doing research. I didn't mind. It made me feel like a real journalist, like my NPR heroes. I even got calls from the media. The show was fringe, it was wacky, and it was starting to attract attention from people who monitored pop-culture weirdness. A lot of people thought it was a gimmick appealing to the goth crowd. I had developed a set of canned answers for just about every question.

I got asked a lot if I was a vampire/lycanthrope/witch/whatever; from the skeptics the question was if I _thought_ I was a vampire/lycanthrope/witch/whatever. I always said that I was human. Not a lie, exactly… What else _could_ I say?

I liked research. I had a clipping service that delivered articles from all walks of media about anything pertaining to vampires, lycanthropes, magic, witchcraft, ghosts, psychic research, crop circles, telepathy, divining, lost cities- _anything_. Lots of grist for the mill.

A producer from _Uncharted World_ called to see if I wanted to be on the show. I said no. I wasn't ready for television. I was never going to be ready for television. No need to expose myself any more than necessary.

I got fan mail. Well, some was fan mail. Some of it was more along the lines of, "Die you satanic bastard from hell." I had a folder that I kept those in and gave to the police every week. If I ever got assassinated, they'd have a nice, juicy suspect list. Right.

Werewolves really are immune to regular bullets. I've seen it.

Six months. I'd done the show for once a week for six months. Twenty-four episodes. I was broadcasted on sixty-two stations, nationwide. Small potatoes in the world of syndicated talk radio. But I thought it was huge. I thought I would have gotten tired of it by now. But I always seemed to have more to talk about.

One evening, seven or eight o'clock, I was in my office- my office!- reading the local newspaper. The downtown mauling death of a prostitute made it to page three. I hadn't gotten past the first paragraph when my phone- my phone!- rang.

"Hello, this is Alfred."

"You're Alfred Jones?"

"…Yes?"

"I'd like to talk to you." I raised an eyebrow.

"Who is this?"

He hesitated a beat before continuing. "These people who call you- the ones who say they're psychic, or vampires and werewolves- do you believe them? Do you believe it's real?"

I suddenly felt like I was doing the show, on the phone, confronting the bizarreness that was my live head-on. But it was just me and the guy on the phone. He sounded… ordinary.

When I did the show, I had to draw people out. I had to answer them in a way that made them comfortable enough to keep talking. I wanted to draw this guy out.

"Yes, I do."

"Do they scare you?"

My brow puckered. I couldn't guess where this was going. "No. They're people. Vampirism, the rest of it- they're diseases, not a mark of evil. It's unfortunate that some people use them as a license of evil. But you can't condemn all of them because of that."

"That's an unusually rational attitude, Mr. Jones." That voice took on an edge. Authoritative. Decisive, like he knew where he stood now.

"Who are you?"

"I'm attached to a government agency-"

"Which one?"

"Never mind that. I shouldn't even be talking to you like this-"

"Oh, give me a break!"

"I've wondered for some time now what your motivations are in doing your show."

"Let me at least take a guess. Are you with the NIH?"

"I'm not sure the idea would have occurred to someone who didn't have a… personal… interest." A chill made my hair stand on end. This was getting way too close.

I said, "So, are you with the CDC?"

A pause, then, "Don't misunderstand me, I admire the work you're doing. But you've piqued my curiosity. Mr. Jones- what are you?"

Okay, this was just weird. I had to talk fast to fend off panic.

"What do you mean, 'what am I?' "

"I think we can help each other. An exchange of information, perhaps."

Feeling a bit like the miller's daughter in _Rumpelstiltskin_, I took a wild stab. "Are you with the CIA?"

He said, "See what you can find on the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology." Then he hung up.

Great, I had my own personal Deep Throat.

Hard to focus on work after that. I kept turning the conversation over in my mind, wondering what I'd missed and what someone like that could accomplish by calling me. I couldn't have been brooding for more than five minutes when the phone rang again. I flinched, startled, and tried to get my heart to stop racing before I answered. I was sure the caller would be able to hear it over the phone.

I answered warily, "Hello?"

"Alfie? It's your mother." Mom, sounding as cheerful and normal as ever. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"Hi, Mom. What's up?"

"You never told me if you were going to be able to make it to your cousin Amelia's wedding. I need to let them know."

I had completely forgotten. Mostly because I didn't, under any circumstances, want to go. Weddings meant crowds. I didn't like crowds. And questions. Like "So when is it going to be _your_ turn?" Or, "Do _you_ have anyone _special_?"

I mean, define _special_. This wasn't just, "Oh, you're dating another _guy_, Alfred?" It was more along the lines of, "What is that _thing_ you're dating, Alfred?"

I tried to be a little more polite. Mom didn't deserve aimless venting. I pulled out my organizer.

"I don't know, when is it again?" She gave me the date, I flipped ahead to next month and looked. The day after the full moon. There was _no way_ I'd be in any kind of decent shape to meet the family the day after the full moon. I couldn't handle being nice to that many people the _day after the full moon_.

Now, if only I could think of an excuse I could tell my mother.

"I'm sorry, I've got something else going on. I'll have to miss it."

"I think Amelia would really like you to be there." I'd been much closer to Amelia when we were younger than now. As we grew older, we grew apart. We traveled, went different ways, and had hardly been in contact on the regular. I was still closer to her than my older brother, Frank, however. The guy was a daredevil and a mountain climber/cliff diver/adrenaline junkie. The kind of guy you'd expect to be hanging out with a bunch of guys drinking beer and driving jeeps a hundred miles per hour across giant sand-dunes in the Sahara, that kind of thing. He and I had an… alright relationship. But I guess I couldn't judge. I mean, look at where I was.

"I know, I know. I'm really sorry. I'll send her a card."

I even wrote myself a note to send her a card, then and there. To tell the truth, I didn't think Amelia would miss me all that much. Or at least, she'd get over it pretty quick. She was a tough woman, and we were hardly that close. But there were other forces at work here. Mom didn't want to have to explain to everyone why I was absent, any more than I wanted to tell her why I _really_ was going to be absent.

"You know, Alfie, you've missed the last few big family get-togethers. If you're busy, I understand, but it would be nice if you could make an appearance once in awhile."

It was her birthday all over again. That subtle, insipid guilt trip that only mothers are capable of delivering. It wasn't like I was avoiding the family simply for the sake of avoiding them.

"I'll try next time." I said that every time.

She wouldn't let up. "I know you don't like me worrying about you. But you used to be so outgoing, and now-" Now I was a shut in. Now I didn't go out. Do anything. Meet anyone. Now I had someone else I had to ask permission from before I could do things. I could picture her shrugging in lieu of cohesive thought. "Is everything okay?"

Sometimes I wished I could tell her I was gay or something. Well, sort of. I liked people, not gender. But then again, that probably wouldn't have surprised anyone, given the fact that I was so silent about dating and relationships in general. I guess it didn't help that I was a very inquisitive dater. I'd usually try anything just once. "Everything's fine, Mom. I'm just busy. Don't worry."

"Are you sure, because if you ever need to talk-"

I couldn't tell her. I couldn't imagine what sort of nightmare scenarios she'd developed about what I was doing when I said I was busy. But I couldn't tell her the truth. She was nice. _Normal_. She wore pantsuits and sold real estate. Played tennis with my dad. Try explaining werewolves to _that_.

"Mom, I really need to get back to work. I know you're worried, I appreciate it, but everything's fine. I promise." Lying through my teeth, actually, but what else could I say?

"All right, then." She didn't sound convinced. "Call me if you change your mind about the wedding."

"Okay. I'll talk to you later." The sound of the phone clicking off was like a weight lifting from my shoulders.

A telephone. Business cards. Next, I needed a secretary to screen my calls.

When a knock on my door frame sounded a few minutes later, I just about hit the ceiling. I dropped the newspaper I'd been reading and looked up to see a man standing in the doorway. My office had a door, but I rarely closed it. He'd arrived without my noticing.

He was of average height and build, an albino if I'd ever seen one, all short cropped white hair, pale almost translucent skin, and peculiar eyes that looked red in the right light. Unassuming if you overlooked the albinism, except he smelled like a corpse. A well-preserved corpse, granted. He didn't smell rotten. But he smelled of cold blood instead of hot blood, and he didn't have a heartbeat. He dressed more… urban than most vampires did. It was still all designer stuff, but it wasn't a suit and tie or anything like that. He looked like a model or a celebrity, but one who had street-smarts.

Vampires had this way of sneaking around without anyone noticing them. He'd probably walked right past the security guy in the lobby of the building.

I recognized this vampire: Gilbert.

I'd met him a couple of times when Arthur and Francis got together to resolve squabbles. He was a strange one. He was part of Francis's Family, but he didn't seem much interested in the politics of it; he always lingered at the edges of the Family, never close to the heart of anything, just wandering freely. I couldn't tell if he was a good friend of Francis's that chose to stay in Francis's Family or if he was actually one of Francis's own. I sort of suspected the former. I'd never seen Francis ever actually order Gilbert around. Gilbert didn't cultivate the demeanor of languor that was ever-present among vampires. He could actually laugh at someone else's jokes. When I asked nicely he told stories about the Old West. The _real_ Old West- he'd been there.

Sighing, my hair and blood prickling with anxiety, I slumped back in my chair. I tried to act casual, as if his presence didn't bother me.

"Hey, Gil."

His lips turned in a half-grin. When he spoke, he showed fangs, slender, needle-sharp teeth where canines should have been. "Sorry if I startled you."

"No you aren't. You enjoyed it."

"I'd hate to lose my knack for it. I'm told I'm one of the best." Part of me wanted to believe he was joking, the guy had a bit of an ego, but I didn't really doubt it either.

"I thought you couldn't come in here unless I invited you."

"That doesn't apply to commercial property." Figures.

"So. What brings you here?" The question came out tense. He could only be here because I hadn't quit doing the show and Francis wasn't happy about it.

His expression didn't waver. "What do you think I came here for?"

I glared, in no mood for any more mind games tonight. "Francis told Arthur to make me quit the show. I haven't quit. I assume his Mighty Undeadness is going to start harassing me directly to try and get me off the air. He sent you to deliver some sort of threat."

"That's a little paranoid, isn't it? Besides, I'm not someone that Francis just _sends_ on errands." That cocky little lilt in his voice was back. "He asks me nicely because we're such good buddies like that."

I pointed. "Not if they're really out to get me." I rolled my eyes and didn't bother to comment about the rest.

"Francis didn't send me," he clarified to me soundly.

I narrowed my gaze, suspicious. "He didn't?"

"He doesn't know I'm here." Which changed everything. Assuming Gilbert was telling the truth, but he had no reason not to. If he was seeing me behind Francis's back, he must have a good reason.

"Then, why are you here?"

"I'm trying to find some information. I wondered if you could help me." Suddenly quite serious, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, smoothed it out, and handed it to me. "What do you make of this?"

It was a flyer printed on goldenrod-colored paper. The production value was low. It might even have been type-written, then photocopied at a supermarket. It read:

_Do you need help? Have you been cursed? Vampires, lycanthropes, there is hope for you! There is a cure! The Reverend Elijah Smith and his Church of the Pure Faith want to save you. Pure Faith Will Set You Free._

The bottom of the flyer listed a date a few weeks old. The site was an old ranch thirty miles north of town, near Brighton.

Reading it over again, my brow wrinkled. It sounded laughable. I conjured an image of a stereotypical southern preacher laying hands on, oh, someone like Arthur. Banishing the demons, amen and hallelujah. Arthur would bite his head off- for real.

"A cure? Through faith and healing? Is this a joke?"

"No, unfortunately. One of Francis's followers left to join them. We haven't seen her since. Personally, I smell a rat and I'm worried."

"Yeah, no kidding. Francis must be _pissed_."

"Got that right. But it's been next to impossible to learn anything about this Smith guy and his church. Francis is too proud to ask for help. I'm… open-minded. You have contacts. I wondered if you'd heard anything."

"No." I flipped the page over, as if it would reveal more secrets, but the back was blank. "A cure, huh? Does it work?"

Every hint of a cure I'd ever tracked down had turned out to be a myth. Smoke and folklore. I could be forgiven for showing skepticism.

"I don't know," he said simply.

"I've never heard of a cure actually working."

"Neither have I."

"Francis's follower thought it was for real. And she never came back. So… it worked?" A small shrug from Gilbert.

"Some might be attracted by such a possibility. Enticing bait, if someone wanted to lure people like us."

"Lure? Why?"

He shrugged once more. "To trap them, kill them. Enslave them. Such things have happened before."

The possibilities he suggested were downright ominous. They incited a nebulous fear of purposes I couldn't imagine. Witch hunts, pogroms. Reality TV. He was only trying to scare me so I'd get righteously indignant enough to do something about this. It worked.

"I'll see what I can find out." Grist for the mill. I wondered if Smith would come on the show for an interview.

"Thanks, Alfred."

"Thanks for the tip." I pursed my lips, suppressing a grin. "It's a good thing the humble subordinates keep running around their leaders' backs, or nothing would get done around here."

Gilbert gazed innocently at the ceiling. As innocent as he could look with a gleam in his eye and a half-hearted attempt at suppressing a grin. "Well, I wouldn't say anything like that to Francis's face. Or Arthur's." Things always came back to them, didn't they? The Master, the alpha. We were hardwired to be followers. I supposed it kept our communities from degenerating into chaos.

More somber, I said, "Do you think Francis's going to do anything about the show?"

"That depends on what Arthur does." As in, if Arthur did nothing, Francis might. I winced.

"Right."

"I should be going."

"Yeah. Take it easy."

He nodded, and walked out the door as quietly as he'd arrived, but not before flashing me a toothy grin. The guy was a real character all right. He could flop from dead serious to a complete joker and back in a heartbeat. That was part of the reason I liked the guy so much. He wasn't as stiff as the other… well, stiffs.

Phone. Business cards. Secretary. Maybe I also needed a receptionist. And a bodyguard.

Dressed in sweatpants and a white tee, I stood on the mat, and at the instructor's signal, kicked at dust motes. Yao Wang, an impossibly fit and enthusiastic middle-aged Chinese man with way too much time on his hands, shouted "Go!" and the dozen of us in the class- all women in twenties or thirties save for me, the lone ranger- kicked.

It was definitely… interesting, being the only guy there. I was a male in my mid twenties, I was, statistically speaking, the type of guy these women were all taking this class to be able to defend themselves _from_. But most classes were for young kids in elementary school making their mothers proud or for actual, serious martial arts students. I wasn't anywhere near dedicated enough to actually want to go to a full on class teaching me martial arts.

For one thing, if Arthur found out he'd be _steamed_, he'd never let me do _anything_. Goodbye sweet freedom. He might even get ticked off enough to shut down my show, no arguments, no questions. I couldn't risk it. Simple self-defense classes were the next best thing. Besides, I didn't want to learn to _fight_. Just be able to defend myself until I could get help, be able to simply have an edge. _Something_. Because, let's be honest here, I couldn't possibly keep Mattie or Arthur with me at all times every second of the day. For one thing, that would get really old, really fast. Arthur would micromanage _everything_. And I didn't want to bother Mattie like that.

I made the women kind of nervous at first, until they learned from experience how much of a pushover I really was. I was pretty much raised to never lay a hand on a girl, to respect them, and I had no problems letting them practice on me. Just as well, I'd carefully ingrained in my instinct to not want to hurt humans. I was one before, after all. And I personally knew and hated the feeling of being vulnerable and being pushed around just because the other person could. Pack dynamics and all.

Rather than teaching a specific martial art, the class took bits and pieces from several disciplines and combined them in a technique designed to incapacitate an assailant long enough for us to run like hell. We didn't get points for style; we didn't spend a lot of time in mystical meditation. Instead, we drilled moves over and over again so that in a moment of panic, in the heat of an attack, we could move by instinct to defend ourselves.

It was pretty good exercise as well. Something I kind of was ashamed to admit that I needed. Breathing hard, sweating, I could forget about the world outside the gym and let my brain go numb for an hour. We switched sides and kicked with the other leg a dozen or so times. Then Yao put his hands on his hips.

"All right. Line up so we can do some sparring."

I hated sparring. We'd started with a punching bag the first few sessions. Where most of the women hit the bag and barely budged it, I sent it swinging. I got many admiring compliments regarding my upper-body strength. But it had nothing to do with upper-body strength. I was hardly a regular with exercise, even as a human. Something about werewolves made them more powerful than normal humans. Without any training at all, just by being myself and what I was, I could outfight all my classmates, and probably Yao as well.

That wouldn't help me much with vampires.

What the episode with the punching bag taught me was that I had to be very careful sparring against humans. I didn't know how strong I was or what I was capable of. I've never tried to learn and fight to defend myself like this before, never tested my limits or gave a serious thought to fighting. I had to pull every punch. I didn't want to hurt anyone by mistake.

I didn't want to hurt anyone at all. The Wolf part of me groveled and whined at the thought of fighting, because he knew Arthur wouldn't like it. Wolf, ha. I was supposed to be a monster. Ferocious, bloodthirsty. But a monster at the bottom of the pack's pecking order might as well be as ferocious as a newborn puppy.

Dutifully, I lined up with the others and gritted my teeth. We practiced delivering and taking falls. Tripping, tackling, dropping, rolling, getting back up and doing it all over again. I fell more often than not, smacking on the mat until my teeth rattled. I didn't mind. My sparring partner was Felicia, a cute little Italian girl a little on the plump side who'd never even thought about sports until she wanted to impress her exercise junkie of a boyfriend by taking some lessons in order to surprise him. She was enthusiastic but ditzy and didn't actually care for fighting all that much. But she was real sweet, and she always had a conversation starting question whenever she talked to me. Very outgoing. A lot of these women had to overcome cultural conditioning against hurting other people, or even confronting anyone physically. I was happy to contribute to Felicia's education in this regard. After all, statistically speaking, I _was_ the stereotypical rapist here. Practicing against men as well as other women like them was good experience.

"You're holding back, Alfred."

I was flat on my back again. I opened my eyes to find Yao, five feet six inches of zeal and a love for teaching martial arts, staring down at me, weirdly foreshortened at this angle. He was all leg.

"Yeah," I said with a sigh.

"Come on, get up." He offered his hand and helped me to my feet. "Now, I want you to knock me all the way across the gym." He had the gall to put a twinkle in his eyes.

The rest of the class formed a circle around us, an audience that I didn't want and made me bristle. Wolf hated fighting. He was better at avoidance. Inside, I was whining. Yao bent his arms and hunched like he was getting ready to charge me. If he charged, I was supposed to drop, letting him trip over me, and shove, making sure he lost his footing. Sure enough, he ran at me. I dropped. Instead of tripping, though, he sidestepped. If I'd shoved like I was supposed to, he would have lost his balance. But I just sat there, allowing him to jump behind me and lock his arm around my neck.

"I _know_ you can do better than that. Come on, let's try it again."

I could fight, I was strong enough. But I had no will for it. Too used to being picked on, a victim by habit. I closed my eyes, feeling like a kid who'd flunked yet another test. Slowly, I got to my feet. Yao faced me again.

"Okay, let's try something. This time, imagine I'm your worst enemy. Someone that really gets under your skin, and this is your chance to get even."

Oh, that was easy. That would be Cameron. All Yao had to do was say it, and I saw Cameron there, and all that anger came back. I clenched my fists. Being angry meant not holding back, of course. I wasn't sure I could have pulled the next punch if I'd wanted to, once I had Cameron on the brain.

Yao charged. I ducked. Then I _shoved_, leading with my shoulder and putting my whole body behind it. I connected with his side. He made a noise, a grunt of air, and flew. Both his feet left the mat. A woman squealed and dodged out of his way as he crashed to the floor, bouncing twice. He lay on his back and didn't move.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach and I nearly fainted. I'd killed him. I'd killed my self-defense instructor. _Shit_.

I ran to where he lay and stumbled to a crouch at his side, touching his shoulder. "Yao?"

His eyes fluttered. A few panicked heartbeats later, he opened them. Then he grinned.

"Yeah, that's what I'm talking about! You gotta learn to _hit_ people." He was breathing hard. He had to gasp the words out. I'd probably knocked the wind out of him. "Now, never do that to me again."

I gave him a hand up. He was rubbing his head. I bet he would hurt in the morning. How embarrassing.

"Wow," Felicia, coming to stand next to me, said, "This guy or whoever must have been a real dick."

"You have no idea."

It was after this particular class that Yao requested I stay behind to talk. I was slightly nervous but also kind of curious as to what he had to say. I could kind of guess, though.

"So, Alfred, if you don't mind me asking, why did you decide to take self-defense, of all things?" He said it amicably, and without any suspicion. Just genuinely curious. I shifted my gaze a little.

"I just… I feel like someone else is always there to protect me, but I can't do anything for myself." Which was kind of true, actually. "I feel tired of having to rely on other people to fend for me. I want to be able to get myself out for once. Even if it's just this." I churned this out without a second thought, but actually… I actually started to feel that way, as I said it. Arthur or Mattie was always there, to come to the rescue when little cub Alfred got into trouble again. It wasn't a good feeling. The Wolf loved the attention, as Arthur always became stiflingly overbearing directly after something involving me ever happened. But… I couldn't take that anymore. I could feel something shifting inside me. I was changing. I couldn't stay like this forever. And maybe my Wolf sensed this. Maybe he felt it too. The ability, the freedom to be something more.

Yao stared at me for a couple of beats, seemingly searching. Staring made me slightly uncomfortable, as I knew what it meant in the pack. Challenge. Someone higher than you in the pack stared you down when they wanted you to back off, to intimidate you. You either looked away quickly and showed you submitted, or you got ready to fight. But it was a bit different here. It was Yao, searching. And I was afraid of what he wouldn't find. Or would find.

"What you're going through, I've seen it before many times. People want to stretch out. But they have limits they put on themselves that keep them cramped, keep them from growing. They suffocate themselves slowly and without realizing it. Never reaching down deep to their potential out of fear. I don't know what you are going through, Alfred, and I don't want to know, unless you feel you can share it with me. But if you ever want a little more training, just a little something more serious, I will do it after classes if you want it. I make this offer to any student I have that I think may have potential. And I think you do. You are a slumbering giant, strong but gentle. I think you have what it takes."

This was more than anyone had ever told me before. Not Mattie, not Arthur. Sure, my parents told me that all the time when I was a kid. "You can do anything if you put your mind to it." But after the attack, after becoming this… I closed up. A lot. I felt there wasn't much I could do. Just lay low, pretend to be normal. Take it a day at a time. And somehow, some way, with my pack, I'd… make it, I guess? But I was starting to do something for myself now. Something I did that was all my own and that I built by myself. And it felt… it felt wonderful. And it would have never happened had Arthur had the final say so, and I just caved into him no questions asked. I kept it, all my own.

Yao couldn't know the actual weight of what he was offering me. He was offering me lessons to fight. Something that, before now, I never would have given a second thought to saying no to. What would Arthur think? He'd never let me. And that meant the end of it. But now… I was second guessing that. I was going against him. Behind his back, without him knowing. But still. It was a start. And what would it lead to…? I didn't really know. Did I have the courage, the desire to find out? I hesitated in answering Yao for a little while. But his brown eyes were bright, and they told me 'you can do it'. I didn't know if I actually believed that or not.

Mustering my courage, willing my rising heart-rate to steady and my nerves to calm, I replied, "I think… I think I'll take you up on your offer."

Between my mystery phone call and Gilbert's visit, I had my research assignments for the next week set. I worked on my mystery caller first.

The Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology was the government agency that had conducted the study on lycanthropy and vampirism overseen by the CDC and NIH. It was relegated to footnotes in the back pages of the obscure report that had been all but buried in the CDC archives. I couldn't find any names of people there I could contact. No one wanted to be associated with it. The people I called at the CDC hadn't heard of it. The NIH referred me to the CDC. It probably wasn't a real agency, but some kind of tank. Or smoke screen.

I didn't usually buy into conspiracy theories. At least not where the government was concerned. After all, when Congress had trouble voting itself enough money to continue operating, how was I supposed to believe that this same government was behind a finely tuned clandestine organization bent on obfuscating the truth and manipulating world events according to some arcane plane for the domination of the minds and souls of all free people?

Unless vampires were involved. If vampires were involved, all bets were off.

I worked on Gilbert's flyer next.

As much as I hated to admit it, I started with the website for _Uncharted World_. The Internet had a thriving community that dealt in supernatural news. The trouble was separating the hoaxes and fanatics from the real deal. Most of what _Uncharted World_ posted was sensationalist bullshit and inaccurate. But they had a search engine that filtered for "news of the weird," and with enough patience and by following enough links, I could trace the Web to good sources and cross-check the information to verify it.

I hit pay dirt when I found a collection of bulletin board postings and some missing persons reports filed with various local police departments. It seemed that about four months ago, an old revival-style tent had sprung up in the middle of the night on the outskirts of Omaha, Nebraska. Posters appeared all over the bad parts of town, the likely haunts of lycanthropes and vampires, advertising a cure based solely on faith and the intercession of a self-proclaimed holy man, Elijah Smith. I couldn't find any documentation of what happened during that meeting. The tent had disappeared by the next morning and a week later showed up in Wichita, Kansas. Then Pueblo, Colorado. Stories began circulating: The cure worked, this guy was for real, and the people he healed were so grateful, they didn't want to leave. A caravan of followers sprang up around that single tent.

Smith's congregation was known as the Church of the Pure Faith, with "Pure faith will set you free" as its motto. I couldn't find any photos, any accounts of what went on inside the caravan or what the meetings were like. I couldn't find any specifics about the cure itself. No one who wasn't earnestly seeking a cure could get close to Smith or his followers. People who came looking for their friends, packmates, or Family members who had disappeared into that tent were threatened. Interventions were forcibly turned back.

I came across a couple of websites warning people away from Smith. Some people screamed cult. After reading what I could find, I was inclined to as well.

Vampirism and lycanthropy were not medical conditions, so to speak. People had studied us, scanned us, dissected us, and while they found definite characteristics, distinguishing us from _Homo Sapiens_, they hadn't found their sources. They weren't genetic, viral, bacterial, or even biological. That was part of what made us so frightening. Our origins were what science had been trying to deny for hundreds of years: the supernatural. If there were a way to cure vampirism and lycanthropy, it would probably come from the supernatural, the CDC and the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology notwithstanding. In the case of a vampire, how else could one restore the bloodless undead to full-blooded life? Faith healing just might be the answer. That was the problem with trying to expose Smith as a fraud and his church as a cult.

I didn't believe there was a cure. Someone would have found it by now.

"Welcome to _The Midnight Hour_. I'm Alfred Jones. Tonight I have a very special guest with me. Veronique Dubois is the author of _The Bledsoe Chronicles_, _The Book of Rites_, and a half-dozen other best-selling novels that follow the trials and tribulations of a clan of vampires through the centuries. Her newest novel, _The Sun Never Rises_, has just been released. Ms. Dubois, thank you for being on the show."

"Please, my dear, call me Veronique."

Veronique Dubois, who was born in France and came to America at a young age, wore a straight, black knit dress, black stockings, black patent-leather heels, and a black fur stole. Her dark hair framed her pale face in tight curls. Diamond studs glittered on her earlobes. She sat back in the guest chair, hugging herself, hands splayed across opposite shoulders. It wasn't because she was cold or nervous- it was a pose. Her official biography gave no age or date of birth. I couldn't tell how old she was by looking at her. Her face was lined, but not old. She might have been anywhere from forty to sixty. There might have been surgery involved.

She wasn't a vampire. She smelled warm and I could hear her heart beat. But she sure was trying to act like one. I couldn't stop staring at her, like, _Are you for real?_

"Alright, Veronique. You right about vampires in a way that makes them particularly vivid. Some critics have commented on your ability to take them out of the realm of standard horror fare and turn them into richly realized characters. They're the heroes of your stories."

"Yes, of course. Why shouldn't they be? It's all a matter of perspective."

"You've gathered a following of admirers who seem to identify strongly with your vampire protagonists. Quite a few of them insist that your novels aren't fiction, but factual accounts of real vampires. What do you say to this?"

She waved her hand in a dismissive gesture that was totally lost on the radio.

"I wouldn't know where to find a real vampire. Vampires are a product of the human imagination. My books are all products of my own imagination."

I had my doubts. Putting Veronique's rabid fans and her florid overwriting aside, she got too many details right. The way vampire Families worked, the things they said to one another, the dominance and posturing games that went on among them the same way they went on among werewolves- details an outsider wouldn't be able to make up. So, she either did a great job on her research, in which case I wanted to know what her sources of information on vampire culture were, or she had connections. Before meeting her, I half-expected her to be a vampire, or a human servant of one, or something.

"Why do you think your fans are so attracted to your characters and stories? Why do people want to believe in vampires?"

"My books create a world that is exciting. My world, the Bledsoe Family, vampires in general- these are all metaphors for the power these poor children wish they could have in life but can't because they are so… so…"

"Insecure?"

"Outcast. Misfit. Badly adjusted."

"Are you saying your fans are social misfits?"

She touched a bitten-down fingernail to her lip. "Hm, that is imprecise."

"You have fans who come to you wanting to learn about vampires, wanting to become vampires. They see you as an authority on the subject. What do you tell them?"

"I tell them it's fiction. Everything I have to say is there in the books. What do _you_ tell them, when people ask you such questions?"

"I tell them that maybe being a vampire isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"Have you ever met a vampire, Alfred?"

I paused, a smile tugging at my lips. "Yeah, I have. And frankly, I find that your novels are pretty accurate."

"Well. What am I supposed to say to that? Perhaps you could introduce me to one." I thought about it and decided that Francis would love to have her for lunch- but he had better taste.

"Why vampires? You write centuries-long family sagas- why not write historical epics without any hint of the supernatural?"

"Well, that would be boring, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah, God knows what Tolstoy was thinking. Seriously, though, what's your inspiration? Where do you get your ideas?"

"Writers _hate_ that question."

"I think writers only say they hate it to avoid answering it."

"Is that any way to speak to a guest?"

I sighed. She was used to being pampered. Dressing room and a bowl of peanut M&Ms with the green ones taken out, that sort of thing.

"I apologize, Veronique. I tend to be a bit on the blunt side." She looked me up and down, nodding slightly, agreeing.

The interview wasn't one of my best. We got off on the wrong foot, and she was entirely too closemouthed to make it work. She didn't want to be here. Her publicist had set up the interview as part of the promotional tour for the new book. She'd probably done a dozen of these appearances already.

I took some calls and got the expected round of gushing, ebullient fans. Veronique handled them better than I did, but she'd had lots of practice. At last, like the door of a prison cell slamming open, the show ended and we were done. I pulled off the headphones and regarded Veronique Dubois.

"Thanks again for being on the show. I know my listeners got a kick out of it."

I expected her to humph at me, make a dismissive gesture, and stalk out leaving a trail of haughty slime behind her. Instead, she licked her lips. Her lipstick needed touching up. Her gaze downcast, she straightened and took a deep breath before speaking.

"I owe you an apology, Mr. Jones." Oh?

"I was not entirely truthful with you. I have met a vampire. My son is one." I had no response to that. I tried to look sympathetic and waited for more.

"I don't want the information made public. With a little imagination I think you can understand why. My fans are forward enough as it is. But I wanted you to know the truth. I hope I can trust you to keep this secret."

I nodded. "I'm good at keeping secrets. I've got a few of my own. How- I mean, if it isn't to brazen of me to ask- how did you find out?"

"He's been a youthful eighteen for twenty years now. I got suspicious. I asked for his secret, and he told me. My stories- they're about him. My son will not have the life I envisioned for him, and these novels are my way of reconciling myself to the life he does have. If one can call it life." I saw her to the door, where she adjusted the mink stole around her shoulders and walked out, chin up, the epitome of dignity.

Full moon night. Time to run.

Mattie picked me up in his truck, which was a white, heavy duty Ford. He needed something to be able to transport both wood and the finished pieces to wherever he needed to go. It was reliable and sturdy, much like Mattie himself. The engine purred like a grizzly bear. He drove with the windows down, the air rushing all around us. I tasted the air whipping by as it tossed my hair all around my face. I drank it in, as the city scents of asphalt and exhaust gave way to the countryside, dry grass, earth, and distant pines. The sun was setting, the moon hadn't yet risen, but I could feel it, a silver breath that tugged the tides and my heart. A howl tickled the back of my throat- the pack was near. I turned to Mattie, smiling.

The pack gathered at Arthur and Sanvi's house, at the edge of the national forest. It might have been just another party, the dozen or so cars parked on the street, the collection of people congregating in the living room. But tension gripped the room, anticipation and nerves. The veil to that other world we lived in was drawn halfway. We could see through, but had to wait to enter. Arthur wasn't here yet.

Twenty-two wolves made up the local pack. They came from an area of a couple-hundred-mile radius, drawing from the urban areas up and down the Front Range, from Colorado Springs to Fort Collins. Most of them I only ever saw on full moon nights. We knew our places. I slunk around the edges of the room, trying to be innocuous.

My skin itched. I hugged myself, trying to stay anchored. So close. He, the Wolf, was waiting, staring out of my eyes. His claws scraped at the inside of my skin, wanting to push through the tips of my fingers. He wanted fur instead of skin. His blood flowed hot.

I flinched when the presence of another entered my awareness, like a force pressing through a membrane that surrounded me. I felt Nikolai before I saw him move to block my path.

He was young, my age, voice thick with a Belarusian accent, but he'd been a wolf since he was a teenager. He had pale skin, unkempt dark hair, and an animal stared out of his eyes. I hated him. His scent tinged my nightmares. He was the one who'd attacked me and made me this thing. He followed me around sometimes, like he was waiting for a chance to finish what he'd started. Like he could still smell blood on me. Or like he thought I owed him something. I stayed away from him as much as I could. Mattie, Arthur, and Sanvi backed him off the rest of the time. He wasn't that tough.

Mattie was in the kitchen. I'd have to cross the entire room to get to him. Nikolai cornered me.

"What do you want?"

"You." He leaned close. I was already backed against the wall and couldn't move away when he brought his lips close to my ear. "Run with me tonight."

That was a euphemism among werewolves. Nikolai went through this whenever Arthur wasn't around. I usually cowered and slunk away to hide behind Mattie. Nikolai could take me, but he couldn't take Mattie. That was how the dominance thing worked.

I was so not in the mood for this shit.

"No," I said, not realizing what I was saying until the word was out of my mouth.

"No? What do you mean, no?" I straightened from the wall, squaring my shoulders and glaring at him. My vision wavered to gold. Wolf wanted a piece of him.

"I mean no. I mean _get out of my face_." His shoulders bunched. An annoyed rumble sounded in his throat.

Shit. I'd just challenged him. I'd questioned his dominance, and he couldn't let it pass without severely beating me up. Arthur and Mattie wouldn't save me because I'd gotten into it all by myself.

The room was quiet. The others were watching with a little too much interest. This wasn't the usual squabble- people were always duking it out, jockeying for positions in the middle of the pack. But this was me. I didn't fight. At best, as the pack's baby, I was subject to good-natured teasing. At worst, I ended up on the wrong end of rough-housing. I always cowered, giving up status in exchange for safety.

Not this time.

I couldn't break eye contact with Nikolai. I'd gotten myself into this. Let's see what I had to do to get out. Those tricks I'd been learning in the self-defense class depended on the opponent's making the first move. It was supposed to be self-defense, not kick-ass. I hadn't started with any of the extra lessons with Yao yet. And here I was thinking learning a few little moves made me tough. I'd made the challenge; Nikolai waited for me to start.

I feinted down, like I was going to tackle him in the middle. He reached to swipe at me, and I sidestepped, shoving into his back to topple him. He rolled, smacking into the back of the sofa. I rushed him again, not sure what I thought I was doing. But the Wolf knew. Before he could find his feet, I jumped on his back, hands around his throat, digging my nails into him, fingers and hands clenching with my strength and pulsing with hot blood and adrenaline.

He roared, grabbing my arms and rolling back and forth to dislodge me. My back hit the corner of the sofa, stinging my spine. But I held on, gripping with arms and legs. I wanted to use my teeth as well. At his next lunge, a floor-lamp tipped.

Then Sanvi was there. Sanvi was Arthur's mate, the alpha female of the pack, if only because she was the strongest female and not because of any actual relationship between the two. That was how packs worked, the strongest male and female lead, keeping the others in line. She was tall and lean, her straight black hair tied tight in a long braid going down her back, giving her an identifiably Indian look, beautiful dark skin, dark eyes, and cheekbones of a goddess. She wore a tank top and sweats, as if she was showing it off as the hottest new look, except she vibrated. That was the only way to describe it. She vibrated with power, strength, and dominance. I could feel it across the room, usually. But I was so angry at Nikolai I didn't notice her until she grabbed my hair and pulled back. Her other hand held a chunk of Nikolai's hair.

She regarded me, brow lined with confusion. "Are you sure you want to do this?" She was giving me an out; protecting me from my own stupidity.

My blood was rushing. I wanted to rip out a piece of Nikolai so bad it hurt. I couldn't have said no even if I wanted to. Not on full moon night, not when Wolf was so close to the surface that the usual slightly blurred line between us became nothing but dense fog. I nodded quickly.

"Then take it outside," she said, pushing us away. Someone opened the kitchen door that led to the backyard.

I backed toward the door, holding his gaze. He followed, pressing me. I could hear his heart pounding. His sweat smelled like fire. He clenched his hands into fists. When his muscles tensed, I knew he was going to rush me the last couple of feet to the door.

I ducked, letting him trip over me. He flew headfirst, ungracefully, out the door to the concrete pad outside. I didn't wait; I jumped, landing on top of him as hard as I could. His head cracked on the concrete. Effortlessly, he spun me over, turning the tables so he pinned me to the ground. He backhanded me- I saw stars, my ears rang, my glasses flew hard off my face. He hit me twice more, wrenching my head back and forth while his other hand held my throat. I couldn't breathe.

He was going to kill me.

I'd wanted to learn to fight to defend myself against enemies, not engage in pack power struggles. What was I _doing_?

Anger and fear. That was what this whole life was about, anger vying with fear, whichever won out determined whether you led or followed. I had spent almost three years being afraid, and I was _sick of it_. I growl welled up in my throat, my eyes positively feral. The Wolf could see where I couldn't anyways, so I let him have my eyes. It was the first time ever that I'd actually let him take control of a part of me, while I was still consciously in the forefront, us working together, one in rage.

I kneed him painfully hard in the crotch, with all my strength.

He gasped, wheezing, and though he didn't release me, his grip slackened considerably. Grabbing his wrist, I scrabbled out from under him, twisting and clutching hard on the more structurally weak wrist joint, gripping hard enough that I could feel it giving way, I could _hear_ individual cracking in the bones. I kept hold of his arm as I slid onto his back, wrenching the limb around so hard it popped. With my other hand, I grabbed his hair and pulled as hard as I could, tilting his head almost all the way back. It took all my weight on him to keep him at this angle, which made moving too painful for him. I didn't have the luxury of being able to let him go to smack him around. So I bit him. Hard. Right at the corner of this jaw, taking in a mouthful of his cheek. I bit until I tasted blood, and he whimpered, breaths coming in hard. The angle of his head made breathing difficult, kind of painful. Good.

Finally, he went slack. I let go of his face, licking my lips, sucking the blood off my teeth. I'd taken a chunk out of his flesh- a bite sized flap of it was hanging loose. I leaned in close to his ear.

"I don't like you. I still hold a grudge against you and I always will, so stay out of my way or I'll _rip you apart_." I meant it, too. He knew it, because as soon as I eased my weight off him, he scrambled away, cowering on all fours- submissive.

I crouched and stared at him. The blood was clouding my mind. I saw him, smelled his fear, and wanted to tear into him again. But I couldn't, because he was pack, and he was apologizing. I walked to where he was crouched, curling in on himself like he might disappear. This fight could have gone so differently- the fear I saw in his eyes was only temporary. It was already giving way to surprise. I'd won this not because I was stronger, I hadn't reached that yet, but because he hadn't expected me to fight back. I'd never have a fight this easy again. But at that moment, I didn't care. Wolf didn't care. I'd get strong so I could handle my own. Something in me wasn't the same. It'd shifted. I'd started crossing the line. Now I wasn't sure I could go back. I was at the edge of this cliff, one foot outstretched ready to take the leap. To see if I could fly. Or if I would plummet down below.

He rolled onto his back. His breaths came in soft whines. I stood over him. Then I turned my back on him and walked away. A part of myself was nauseated. But no way would the Wolf let me go puke in the corner. He was hungry. I swayed a little. I had a raging headache. I wiped my face; my hands came away bloody. My nose was bleeding. I tread to soak it up with my sleeve, then gave up. I healed fast anyways, right?

The thing was, Nikolai hadn't been bottom of the pack. Now, others would challenge me in order to keep their places in the pecking order.

Arthur stood at the kitchen door, arms crossed.

"He pissed me off," I said, answering the silent question.

"You don't get pissed off." My first thought was, how the hell would he know? But the last thing I needed tonight was to challenge Arthur. Arthur wouldn't waste any time in knocking the snot out of me. I dropped my gaze and meekly stood before him.

He said, "You may have a big-time radio show, but that doesn't make you anything here."

That reminded me. I groped in my jeans pocket and pulled out the envelope I'd shoved there before leaving home. It was filled with this month's payoff, in cash. I gave it to him. The blood I inadvertently smeared on it glared starkly.

He opened the flap and flipped through the stack of fifties. He glanced at me, glaring. It might not have made everything all better, but it distracted him. He handed the envelope to Sanvi.

If Arthur was the bad cop, Sanvi was the good cop. The first year, I'd come to cry on her shoulder when this life got to me, if Mattie wasn't around or didn't want to deal. She taught me the rules: Obey the alphas; keep your place in the pack.

I didn't want to make her angry. Inside, Wolf was groveling. I couldn't do anything but stand there.

Giving me her own stare, she crossed her arms. "You're getting stronger," she said, almost… motherly, "Growing up, maybe." Maybe. Arthur's glare seemed to harden.

"I'm just angry at Nikolai. He wouldn't leave me alone. That's all." That's what had triggered it, anyway.

"Next time, try asking for help." She prowled off to stash the money.

Mattie, beta male, Arthur's lieutenant, had been standing behind her. I forgot sometimes that within pack law he had as much of a right to beat up on me as Arthur did. I preferred having him as a friend. I leaned into Mattie, hugging him. Among the pack, touch meant comfort, and I wanted to feel safe. I- the part of me I thought of as human- was slipping away.

"I put your glasses away." Meaning he stashed them in the car. What was left of them anyway, probably. I doubt they survived the scuffle unscathed. Just great. "What was that all about?" his voice sounded wary.

"I don't know," I said, but I- he_, _Wolf- knew, really. I felt strong. I wasn't afraid. "I'm tired of getting picked on, I guess."

"You'd better be careful- you might turn alpha on us." He smiled, but I couldn't tell if he was joking.

_Because the pack hunts together this night, Wolf feeds on deer. An injured buck, rich with flesh and blood. Because Wolf is no longer the lowest among them, he gets to taste some of the meat instead of being left with bones and offal. It tastes like victory. Sweet. Others prick their ears and bare their teeth at him in challenge, but the leaders keep them apart. No more fighting this night. Wolf runs wild and revels in his strength, chasing with the others, all of them singing for joy. Exhausted, Wolf settles, warm and safe, already dreaming of the next moon, when he may once again break free and taste blood._

I woke up at dawn in a dog-pile with half a dozen of the others. This usually happened. We ran, ate, found a den and settled in to sleep, curled around one another, faces buried in fur, tails tucked in. We were bigger than regular wolves- conversion of mass, a two-hundred pound man because a two-hundred pound wolf, when a full-grown _Canis Lupus_ doesn't get much bigger than a hundred pounds or so. Nothing messed with us.

We always lost consciousness when we Changed back to human. We woke up naked, cradled in the shelter of our pack. Jade, a thin woman with wild, long hair who was a couple of years older than me, lay curled in the crook of my legs. Jake's back was pressed against mine. I was spooned against Mattie's back, my face pressed to his shoulder. I lay still, absorbing the warmth, the smell, the contentedness. This was one of the good things.

Mattie must have felt me wake up. Heard the change in my breathing or something. He rolled over so we faced each other. He put his arms around me.

"I'm worried about you," he said softly. "Why did you challenge Nikolai?"

I squirmed. I didn't want to talk about this now, in front of the others. But the breathing around us was steady; they were still asleep.

"I didn't challenge him. I had to defend myself." After a moment I added, "I was angry."

"That's dangerous."

"I know. But I couldn't get away. I couldn't take it anymore."

"You've been teaching yourself how to fight." Was it really so obvious? Damn.

"Yeah."

"Arthur won't like that." Like I didn't already know.

"I won't do it again." I cringed at the whine creeping into my voice. I hated being so pathetic. Mattie stared at me hard, and I couldn't look him in the face. He already seemed to know. Did he know I couldn't turn back now? Things wouldn't be the same. Mattie could say what he wanted, but it wouldn't. Not anymore.

"Yeah, right. I think it's the show. You're getting cocky."

"What?"

"The show is making you cocky. You think you have the answer for everything."

I didn't know what to say to that. The observation caught me off guard. He might have been right. The show was mine; it gave me purpose, something to care about. Something to fight for. The show… it had taken on a symbol of something. It was more than _just_ a show now. Now it stood for something that I would do anything to keep. Freedom.

Then he said, "I think Arthur's right. I think you should quit."

Not this, not from Mattie. He was so _goddamned loyal_ to Arthur. Didn't he see that this wasn't just about Arthur to me anymore? That it was _everything_. The fear, the dominance games, the way that I was being kept a runt, a cub, forever here?

"Arthur put you up to this."

"No. I just don't want to see you get hurt. You've got a following. I can see Arthur thinking that you're stepping on his toes. I can see this breaking up the pack."

"I would never break up the pack-"

"Not on purpose."

I snuggled closer into his embrace. I didn't _want_ to be cocky. I wanted to be free. But… a large part of me wanted Mattie to be there with me.

* * *

_Plot! Lots of plot surfacing! And characters too. Whats going to happen next!? NEXT FRIDAY CANNOT COME SOON ENOUGH! Right? I hope you feel that way. I feel that way just waiting to be able to post the next chapter. I'm so pumped about it. I hope that there are others that feel the same. Until next time my friends._


	3. Act I Part III

_All right! The next exciting chapter, ready to go! A lot of stuff is starting to come into play, things are starting to unfold more and more. It's gonna be a wild roller coaster folks, and I hope you're ready! Things are really gonna start picking up from here on. What will happen!? Well, you gotta read to find out! Anything in bold means that it's being spoken in Russian._

_Also, before we begin, a nice little shout out to thank everyone for their reviews, follows, and favs! Thank you all for your support!_

* * *

_Part Three_

"Next caller, hello. You're on the air."

"It… It's my girlfriend. She won't bite me."

Bobby from St. Louis sounded about twenty, boyish and nervous, a gawky post-adolescent with bigger fantasies than he knew what to do with. He probably wore a black leather jacket and had at least one tattoo in a place he could cover with a shirt.

"Okay, Bobby, let's back up a little. Your girlfriend."

"Yeah?"

"Your girlfriend is a werewolf."

"Yeah," he said in a voice gone slightly dreamy. My lip curled and my teeth showed a little.

"And you want her to bite you and infect you with lycanthropy."

"Uh, yeah. She says I don't know what I'd be getting into."

"Do you think she may be right?"

"Well, it's my decision-"

"Would you force her to have sex with you, Bobby?"

"No! That'd be rape."

"Then don't force her to do this. Just imagine how guilty she'd feel if she did it and you changed your mind afterward. This isn't a tattoo you can have lasered off. We're talking about an entire lifestyle change here. Turning into a bloodthirsty animal once a month, hiding that fact from everyone around you, trying to lead a normal life when you're not fully human. Have you met her pack?"

"Uh, no."

"Then you really don't know what you're talking about when you say you want to be a werewolf."

"Uh, no."

"Bobby, I usually make suggestions rather than tell people flat out what to do, but I'm making an exception in your case. Listen to your girlfriend. She knows a heck of a lot more about it than you do, okay?"

"Uh, okay. Thanks Alfred."

"Good luck to you, Bobby," I said and clicked Bobby off. "And good luck to Bobby's girlfriend. My advice to her is dump the guy; she doesn't need that kind of stress in her life. You're listening to _The Midnight Hour_ with me, Alfred Jones. The last hour we've been discussing relationships with lycanthropes, bones to pick and beef to grind. Let's break now for station ID and when we come back, more calls."

I waved to Antonio through the booth window. He hit the switch. The On-Air sign dimmed and the show's theme song, CCR's "Bad Moon Rising," played. Not the usual synthesized goth fare one might expect with a show like this. I picked the song for its grittiness, and the joy with which it seemed to face impending doom.

I pulled off my headphones and pushed the microphone away. If I'd gotten tired of this, as I expected I would during the first six months, quitting would be easy. But I liked it. Still liked it. I hated making Mattie angry, though. Not in the same way I hated making Arthur angry. But still. If they were both pissed off at me, what could I do? I didn't want to give up something that I was proud of, like I was proud of the show. I hated them for making me this stressed out about it.

A werewolf pack was the most codependent group of beings in existence. Hands down.

"You okay in there?" Antonio asked. His dark brown hair was curly and bouncy, vibrant. His eyes were a vivid green and his skin was dark in the way someone who spent their summers never a day indoors would look like. He was laid-back, but he had energy at the same time. He knew what to channel his energy to and what he didn't want to waste his time with. I liked that decisiveness about him. Behind the control board, he looked right at home. I had a feeling no matter what he did, if he wanted to do it, he'd look right at home there too.

I had my elbows propped up on the desk and was rubbing my temples. I'd been losing sleep. My head hurt something awful. I was taking _so_ many painkillers right now. Whine. The thing about being a werewolf was that you needed a lot more of a drug than a human did for the same effect. Taking aspirin has never been the same. And it really sucks because I get headaches all the time.

"Yeah," I said, straightening and taking a big swallow of coffee. I'd have time to stress myself into an ulcer later. Could werewolves get ulcers?

The two-minute break ended. Antonio counted fingers down through the window. The On-Air sign lit, the lights on my caller board lit. Headphones on, phone line punched. Let's rock.

"Welcome back to _The Midnight Hour_. We have Sarah from Sioux City on the line."

The woman was in tears. She fought not to cry, a losing battle. "Alfred?"

"Hi, Sarah," I said soothingly, bracing myself for the onslaught. "What do you need to talk about?"

"My husband," she said after a shuddering breath. "I caught him last week. I mean, I spied on him." She paused, and I let her collect herself before prompting her.

"What happened, Sarah?"

"He- he turned… into… into a wolf. In the woods… behind our house. After he thought I'd gone to bed."

"And you had no idea he's a lycanthrope."

"No! I mean, I suspected. The business trips once a month during the full moon, eating his steaks rare. How could he keep something like this from me? I'm his wife! How could he do it?" The woman's voice quavered until she was nearly screeching.

"Did you confront him? Talk to him about it?"

"Yes, yes. I mean, I asked him about it. He just said he was sorry. He won't look me in the eye anymore!"

"Sarah, take a breath. That's a girl. I know this is a blow, but let's look at it together. How long have you been married?"

"Six- six years."

"And did your husband tell you how long he's been a werewolf?"

"Two years."

"Now, Sarah, I'm going to ask you to look at the situation from his point of view. It was probably pretty traumatic for him becoming a lycanthrope, right?"

"Yes. He was working the night shift alone, locking up the store, when it happened. He- he said he was lucky he got away. Why didn't he ever tell me?"

"Do you think maybe he was trying to protect you? You had a good marriage and he didn't want to mess things up, right? Now I'm not saying what he did was right. In a great marriage, he would have told you from the start. But he's having to keep this secret from a lot of people. Maybe he didn't know how to tell you. Maybe he was afraid you'd leave him if he told you."

"I wouldn't leave him! I love him!"

"But people do leave their partners when something like this happens. There are divorces for much less than this, now a days. He's probably scared, Sarah. Listen, does he still love you?"

"He says he does."

"You know what I'd do? Sit down with him. Tell him that you're hurt, but you want to support him if he'll be honest with you from here on out. Before you do that, though, you have to decide whether or not you can stay married to a werewolf. You have to be just as honest with yourself as you want him to be with you."

Sarah was calm now. She hiccupped a little from the crying, but her voice was steady. "Okay, Alfred. I understand. Thank you."

"Good luck, Sarah. Let me know how it turns out. All right, I've got lots of calls waiting, so let's move right along. Ivan from Longmont, hello."

"I know what you are." The voice was heavily accented. Something east European, like Russian, maybe. Kind of reminded me of Nikolai, but this guy's voice was deeper. Maybe a little less psychotic. Maybe. He was kinda freaking me out right now.

"Excuse me?"

"I know what you are, and I'm coming to kill you." Well damn.

According to Antonio's screening, this guy had said he had a question about lycanthropy and STDs. I should have cut off the call right there. But the strange ones always interested me.

"Ivan? You want to tell me what you're talking about?"

"I'm an assassin. I specialize in lycanthropes." His voice hissed and faded for a moment.

"Are you on a cell phone?"

"Yes. I'm in the lobby of the building, and I'm coming to kill you."

Good Antonio, he was already on the phone with security. I watched him on the phone, just standing there. Not talking. What was wrong? He slammed the phone into the cradle.

"No one's answering," he said loud enough to sound through the glass of the booth.

"I rigged a little… distraction… outside," Ivan said. "Building security is out of the building." At that, Antonio picked up the phone and dialed, just three numbers after punching the outside line. Calling the cavalry.

Then he dialed again. And again. His face went pale. "Line's busy," he mouthed.

"Did you manage to tie up 911?" I said to the caller.

"Please. I'm a professional," Ivan replied. Had the gall to sound amused. Bastard.

Damn, this was for real. I could see Arthur standing there saying, _I told you so_. I hoped he wasn't listening. Then again, if he was, maybe he could come rescue me.

Over the line I heard the ping of the elevator on the ground floor, the slide of the doors. It was a scare tactic, calling me on the phone and walking me through my own assassination. It was a _good_ scare tactic.

"Okay, you're coming to kill me while you warn me on the phone."

"It's… part of the contract," he said in a strained way that made me think he was grimacing as he spoke.

"What is?"

"I have to do this on the air."

Antonio made a slicing motion across his neck with a questioning look. Cut the show? I shook my head. Maybe I could talk my way out of this.

"What makes you think I'm a lycanthrope, Ivan the Assassin Who Specializes in Lycanthropes?"

"My client has proof."

"What proof?"

"Pictures. Video."

"Yes, I'm sure, video taken in the dark with lots of blurry movement. I've seen those kinds of TV shows. Would it hold up in court?"

"It convinced me."

"And you're _obviously_ deranged," I said, flustered. "Have you considered, Ivan, that you're the patsy in a publicity stunt to get me off the air? Certain factions have been trying to push me off for months." This time of night, Antonio and I had the studio to ourselves. Even if some sharp listener called the police, Ivan would be at my booth before they arrived. He'd counted on it, I was sure.

Antonio came into the booth and hissed at me in a stage whisper. "We can leave by the emergency stairs before he gets here." I covered the mike with my hands.

"I can't leave the show."

"Alfred, he's going to _kill_ you!"

"It's a stunt. Some righteous zealot trying to scare me off the air."

"Alfred-"

"I'm not leaving. You can get out if you want." He scowled, but returned to his board.

"And grab one of those remote headsets out of the cupboard for me."

Antonio brought me the headset and transferred the broadcast to it. I left the booth, removing myself from direct line of sight of the door. The next room, Antonio's control room, had a window looking into the hallway. I moved to the floor, under the window, near the door. If anyone came in, I'd see him first.

Ivan would need five minutes to ride the elevator and get from there to here. So- I had to talk fast.

"Okay, Ivan, let me ask you this. Who hired you?"

"I can't say."

"Is that in the contract?" He hesitated. I wondered if he wasn't used to talking and resented that part of the job he'd taken on. I didn't doubt he really was what he said he was. He sounded too controlled, too steady. I guess the predator in me could sense the predator in him.

"Professional policy," he said finally.

"Is this one of those deals where I can offer you more money not to finish me off?" It was worth a shot

"Nope. Ruins the reputation." Not that I had that kind of money anyways.

"Just how much is my life worth?"

A pause. "That's confidential."

"No, really, I'm curious. I think I have a right to know. I mean, if it's a really exorbitant amount, can I judge my life a success that I pissed someone off that much? That means I made an impact, right, and that's all any of us can really hope to accomplish-"

"You talk too much." I couldn't help it; I grinned. Antonio sat against the wall, shaking his head in a gesture of long-suffering forbearance. Getting pinned down by an assassin definitely wasn't in the job description. I was glad he hadn't left, though.

Thinking of everyone who had it in for me was an exercise in futility- so many did, after all: the Witchhunters League, the Right Reverend Deke Torquemada of the New Inquisition, the Christian Coalition…

The elevator pinged, one, two… two more to go. "So let's back it up a bit, Ivan. Most of your jobs aren't like this, are they? You go after rogue wolves. The ones who've attacked people, the ones who's packs can't control them. Law-abiding werewolves are pretty tough to identify and aren't worth going after. Am I right?"

"That's right."

"You have any idea of how few wolves actually cause trouble?"

"Not too many."

Ivan's assertion about my identity, on the air, demanded some response. Denial. Claims of innocence, wrongful accusations- until he shot and killed me. Or until he tried to shoot me and I defended myself. I hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He probably expected me to make denials- you can't shoot me, I'm not a werewolf. But it was a little late for that. Denials would sound a bit lame. And if he really did have photographs… where could have picked up photos? Only thing left was to brazen it out. So this was it. The big revelation show. My ratings had better pay off for this.

"So. Here I am. A perfectly respectable law-abiding werewolf- must be kind of strange for you, tracking down a monster who isn't going to lift a claw against you."

"Come on, Jones. Go ahead and lift a claw. I'd like the challenge." There was a smirk in his voice, I could just tell.

There it was. I'd said it on national radio. I'm a werewolf. Didn't feel any different- Ivan was still riding the elevator to my floor. But my own mother didn't even know. I heard a series of metallic clicks over the headphones. Guns, big guns, being drawn and readied.

"Is this really sporting, Ivan? You know I'm unarmed. I'm a sitting duck in the booth here, and I have half a million witnesses on air."

"You think I haven't had to deal with that kind of shit before?" Okay, wrong tack. I tried again.

"If I shut down the broadcast, would that void the clause in your contract saying this has to be on the air?"

"My client believes you'll stay on the air as long as possible. That you'll take advantage of the ratings this would garner." Damn. Who was this client? Whoever it was knew me too well. Maybe it wasn't the usual list of fanatics. Somebody local who had a grudge.

Francis.

Arthur hadn't made me quit the show. Maybe Francis decided to take care of me himself. He couldn't do it directly. A vampire attacking a werewolf like that would be an act of war between the two groups. Arthur and the pack would take it as a breach of territory at the very least. The Francis would have to deal with them.

But Francis could hire someone. He wouldn't even have to do it himself. He'd work through an intermediary and Ivan would never know he was working for the vampire. Francis had the means to get photos of me during full moon nights. He knew where the pack ran.

I heard the elevator door hiss open. Boot steps on linoleum.

"I can see the window of your booth, Jones." There was a light lilt in his voice, like he had repressed the urge to sing-song the statement.

"Hey, Ivan, do you know Francis?"

"He's in charge of the local vampires."

"Did he hire you?"

"**Hell no**. What do you think I hunt when I'm not after werewolves?" So he hunted lycanthropes _and_ vampires. I _really_ wanted to get on this guy's good side, as impossible as that seemed at the moment. I had to figure out how I could prove that Francis had hired Ivan through an intermediary. Maybe that would the bounty hunter to back off.

Then, I heard sirens. A window looked from my studio to the street outside. I didn't have to move to see the red and blue lights flashing. The police. The last few minutes had dragged, but even if an intrepid listener had called the cops as soon as Ivan announced his intentions, they couldn't have gotten here this quickly.

"You hear that, Ivan?"

"**Damn it**," he muttered, "That's too quick." Hey, we agreed on something!

"It's almost like someone, I dunno, called ahead of time? That they _knew_ you were going to be here? Are you _sure_ you don't want to rethink my patsy theory?"

Francis could get me via Ivan, and with the cops downstairs he could get Ivan, too, if he had it in for the bounty hunter. The cops wouldn't buy the werewolf story. They'd get him for murder.

"You can't be serious."

"Francis, the local vampire Master, wants me off air. Can I assume you've pissed him off recently?"

"… You could say that." There was a story behind that. I'd have to wait until later to pry it out of him.

"Let's pretend he hires you through a third party, calls the cops as you're doing the job, so there's no way you have time for an escape. You may have it in for werewolves on principle, but you can't justify killing me. The minute you pull that trigger, the cops bring you down. How does that sound for a theory?"

A pause, long enough for my palpitating heart to beat a half-dozen times. "You're insane."

I couldn't hear footsteps, couldn't hear weapons. He'd stopped moving. Was I nervous? I hadn't seen those guns yet. I didn't have to; I could smell Ivan's body odor, taunt nerves with a cool mint underlay of aftershave. I could smell the gun oil. I could smell- silver. He had silver bullets. Any doubts about the truth of his claims and intentions vanished. He hunted lycanthropes and vampires, and if he was alive enough to use the plural on that, he knew what he was doing.

I was still on the air. I was getting the show to end all shows, interviewing my own potential killer live on nationally syndicated radio. So was I nervous? Hell yeah. I talked faster. Words were weapons, like Ivan's guns were for him. I could only hope my aim was deadly.

"Hey, Ivan. You ever have to deal with a cornered werewolf drugged up on caffeine and painkillers?"

"Not that I know of."

"You're in for one hell of a ride."

He was right outside the door. All he had to do was lean in and shoot. My fingers itched; my bones itched. I wanted to Change; I wanted to run. I could feel the Wolf clawing at my rigidly held control, in self-defense, self-preservation. I could fight- but I wouldn't. Squeezing my trembling hands into fists, I held my breath. Antonio crouched in a corner, his eyes wide. He was staring at me. Not the door or at Ivan. Me. The werewolf.

Ivan chuckled. The sound was soft, almost indiscernible even to my sensitive hearing. The next sound I heard was a click- the safety of a handgun snapping back into place.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Was I going to live? Die? What? "Sure." I didn't sound to particularly enthused.

"What the hell kind of werewolf uses caffeine as a threat?"

My breath hissed. "Gimme a break; I'm super strung out here. And caffeine can work wonders. Fucking magical."

"I have a deal for you, Jones. I call off the contract, and you don't press charges."

"All right," I said quickly. I was more interested in keeping my skin intact than pressing charges.

Ivan continued, "I'm going to do some checking. If you're wrong, I'll come back for you."

I swallowed. "That seems fair."

"If you're right, we can both rub Francis's face in it. Now, I suggest we wait here for the cops to find us, then we can all explain things like reasonable people."

"Um, can I finish the show?"

"I suppose." Antonio scrambled to the board. "Forty seconds left," he said, a little breathlessly. Wow. Perfect timing. There is a God. He has a twisted sense of humor.

"Hey, listeners! I haven't forgotten about you." Cue nervous chuckle. Right. "Seems this was all a misunderstanding. I think Ivan the Assassin and I have worked things out. The police are coming up the stairs as I speak. If this were a movie, the credits would be rolling. So that's it for _The Midnight Hour_. Next week I have as my guest Senator Joseph Duke, sponsor of a bill in Congress that would grant federal marshal status to licensed exorcists. Is he a crackpot, or is the country really under threat from hordes of communist demons?" There was a soft snort from Ivan. So he _was_ Russian. "I can't promise that it'll be nearly as exciting as it was tonight but, hey! You never know. I'll do my best. Until then, this is Alfred Jones, Voice of the Night."

Antonio started the closing credits, featuring a long, clear wolf howl rich with the full moon. My own howl, recorded for the show at the start. I pulled my headset and rubbed my eyes. The older glasses I had to wear in place of my broken ones until I could get a new pair were… lacking. Maybe Arthur was right and I should quit doing this. So much trouble. Was it worth my life? Should I just quit? … Nah!

The hair on my neck tingled; danger, Wolf growled. I turned quickly to see a man standing in the doorway, leaning on the frame. Even without the revolver in the holster strapped to his thigh, gunslinger style, he was scary: Tall, six feet, and lots of muscle. I could tell from the way his black shirt stretched across his chest underneath his open light beige trench/raincoat. Worn jeans and steel-toed boots completed the look, but my eyebrow went up at the off-white cream colored scarf. His face was all nose, but he wore it very well. His eyes were a piercing deep purple and his hair was a dusty sort of grey-blond, like someone had throw ash in his hair. His mouth was up in a smirk and he held a rifle tucked under his arm. I could smell the silver on him. The scent burned the inside of my nose like I was sniffing chili powder.

"That you?" he asked, indicating the last fading note of the wolf howl. He looked to be in his early thirties. His eyes glinted, matching the humor of his suppressed grin. I nodded, climbing to my feet, propping myself against the wall. Big, dangerous werewolf- yeah, that was me. I wanted a hot shower and a nap. Way too much excitement in one day.

Cops were pounding down the hallway now, shouting something about weapons down and hands up. Ivan followed instructions, gun down and hands up, as if he'd done this before. I didn't really doubt it. I had a thousand questions for him. How did someone get into the business of hunting werewolves and vampires? What kind of adventures had he had? Could I get him on the show as a guest? What did I do now? Introduce myself? Shake his hand?

"Jones, don't ever give me a reason to come after you," he said, before the police flooded the floor. My smile was frozen and my knees were weak as the uniformed men arrived, surrounded him and led him away; his eyes never left me. The cop in charge, Detective Chloe O'Sullivan, escorted me down the emergency stairway herself. She explained, in a not-quite ironed out Irish accent, her fiery red hair tied up in a tight ponytail, freckles dotted all over pale skin, how I'd have to go to the police station, make a statement, sign the report, and so on. The long night was going to get even longer. Whine.

I wanted to say something, shout it. Like, _I'm a werewolf_. I wondered if it would change anything. No, not if. _How_ it would change everything. I'd told the world. I felt like I had to keep saying it, to believe that it'd really happened. For once, I kept my mouth shut.

"By the way, there's a guy downstairs looking for you. Name of Arthur? I told him he can talk to you after you go to the station. This might take awhile, though."

Arthur. Arthur, that bastard. Took him long enough to figure out I was in trouble. And he called himself an alpha. It only showed that much more how I couldn't rely on him or Mattie anymore. I'd gotten out of this situation by myself. Barely. But by myself. Could I really keep this up? Could I really… do this? Was I really doing what I thought I was doing? Brushing off Arthur? My mouth moved into a hard line.

"That's fine. Take as long as you like. Arthur can wait."

The cops kept me for two hours. They were nice. Very polite. O'Sullivan put me in a bland holding room with off-white carpet and walls and plastic chairs, got me coffee, and patted me kindly on the shoulder. Most of the others gave me a wide berth, staring at me as I walked past. Rumor traveled quickly. The whispers started as soon as we arrived at the station. _That's him. The werewolf. Yeah, right._

O'Sullivan didn't seem to notice.

I gave her my rundown of what had happened. Just a formality- we recorded the whole show. It was all there on tape. But O'Sullivan kept me around, trying to talk sense into me.

"You sure you don't want to press charges? We can pin felony stalking on this guy. Criminal mischief, attempted murder-" I'd made a deal with Ivan. I'd stick by it, and despite everything, I trusted him to stick by it, too. I'd been so used to running under the law's radar- we made our own rules, us and people like Ivan. But if I told O'Sullivan, "We take care of our own," she probably wouldn't appreciate it.

Ouch. What was I thinking? Ivan probably _belonged_ in jail.

"Don't tell me this really was just a publicity stunt," she said finally. If possible, her frown grew even more irate.

"No." It might turn out that way. I might have to thank Ivan. "I think I just want to go home, if that's okay." I tried to smile like a demure victim. Well, I didn't say I was good at it. The look never really worked out for me.

"It'll be a lot easier to prosecute this guy with your cooperation. I can hold him overnight, but not any longer than that without pressing charges."

"No one got hurt. It's okay, really." Geez, that sounded lame, even to me.

She put her hand on the table next to me and leaned close. "Attitudes like that get people killed."

I blinked, cringing back. She straightened and marched out of the room. I got to leave ten minutes later. Outside the door of the police station, Arthur and Mattie were waiting for me. Mattie put his arm around me; Arthur took firm hold of my elbow. I thought I would have argued with them. I thought I would have gotten huffy and shrugged away, asserting my independence. Instead, I nearly collapsed. I leaned against Mattie, hugging him tight and speaking into his shoulder in a wavering voice, "I want to go home."

Arthur stayed close, his body like a shield at my back, and kept watch. He guided us to his car, and they took me home. They just held me, and that was enough. I didn't want to be alone. I didn't want to be independent. I could say to Arthur, "Take care of me," and he would. Part of me wanted nothing more than to curl up at his feet and feel protected. That was the Wolf talking. I had a studio apartment, decent if small, with a kitchen on one side, a bathroom on the other, and everything else in the middle. I usually didn't bother turning the futon back into a sofa.

Mattie sat on the futon, his back to the wall, and I curled up on his lap like a puppy. Arthur stalked back and forth between the apartment's window and door. He was convince someone was going to come after me- Ivan waiting to finish the job; some other bozo who had it in for me on principle. I barely noticed- if Mattie was here, I didn't have to worry.

"What am I going to do?" I sighed. "They're going to can me. It's all going to blow up. God, it's going to be all over the _Enquirer_."

"You might make _Newsweek_ with this one, Alfie," Mattie said, patting my shoulder. He never used my nickname unless he was supremely full of himself that he told me something and he was right, and I'd had to learn the hard way. I groaned. The phone rang. Arthur nearly hit the ceiling before springing for the bedside phone. I got to it first.

"Hello?"

"Alfie. It's your mother." Oh shit. "Are… are you okay?" I had almost forgotten. How could I have forgotten? I was only _beginning_ to deal with this. I should have called her first.

"Hi, Mom."

"Frank called; he was listening to your show and he said… he said that you almost got killed and that you said… you said…"

Ah yes. Frank. My older brother. To be honest, he probably was getting a kick out of this. He didn't tend to sweat most things. He didn't seem to sweat things that people really _should_ be sweating about. Mom couldn't bring herself to say the word "werewolf." I said a lot of "Yes, Mom. It's true, Mom. I'm sorry… no, I'm not crazy. I don't think, anyway. No, I couldn't tell you… it's hard to explain. No, I'm not going to die, at least, not right now. About three years now, I guess. Yes, that long." Mom started crying.

"Yeah, I'll talk to Dad. Yeah… Hi, Dad."

"Hi, Al. How are you?" And he sounded sensible, like he always had, like I might have just been calling from college to tell him I'd wrecked the car, and he was assuring me everything was going to be okay.

I wiped away tears, "Shell shocked. But I'll recover."

"I know you will. You're a good kid. I know that, and so does Mom. She's just a little off-balance right now."

"Thanks. That means a lot. Is she going to be okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. I bet if you call back this evening she'll be better."

"Okay."

"Are you alone? Is there someone you can stay with? Do you want me to come up there?" That was all I needed, for Dad to come and find me tangled up in bed with the pack. "I've got friends here. They're looking after me."

After demanding about three more times that I call back tonight, he hung up. Mattie smiled, "I could hear him on the phone. He sounds great. You're real lucky." He hadn't let go of me all morning. No matter what happened, he'd be right there. He was pack, and he cared.

"Yeah," I said to him, "I am."

Arthur crossed his arms. "That's it," he said. "You'll quit the show now." I pressed my face into Mattie's leg. I didn't answer; I didn't argue. In the face of all the evidence, he was right. I should quit. I didn't know how to explain to him that I _couldn't_. So I didn't. Mattie tensed, like he knew what I was thinking.

"He's right, Al," he whispered. I covered my ears. I didn't want to hear this, especially from Mattie. I sat up and scooted away from Mattie until I was in the middle of the bed, and hugged my knees.

"Aren't you even the least bit upset at Francis for hiring that guy in the first place?" If it was even Francis. I was going to have to find out. Maybe Gilbert knew something. Arthur bristled, his shoulders twitching, his mouth turning into a snarl.

"This isn't about Francis. This is about you putting yourself in danger."

"I have to find out if Francis was behind this. You could talk to him. Will you help me?" Arthur didn't answer. He just glared at me. Mattie looked back and forth between us, waiting for some cue.

Mattie settled his gaze on me and said, "If you quit the show, I'll call out Francis for you."

Arthur jumped onto the bed. I yelped; Mattie scrambled away, slipping off the bed and crashing to the floor. He rolled onto all fours in a heartbeat, but kept his distance. Arthur pinned me, trapping me with his hands propped on the bed on either side of my head, his weight on my body. Trembling, I tried to pull away.

I wasn't ready to take on Arthur.

"I don't bargain," he said, his voice low. He glanced sideways at Mattie, who looked away, submissive. "You will do as I say. _I'll_ take care of Francis."

I didn't believe him.

I squeezed my eyes shut against tears, looking away even as I felt his breath on my cheek. He was close enough to bite. I nodded, wanting only for him to leave me alone, wanting only for it to stop. If we were human, and this was a human relationship, I'd have been expected to leave him. This was abuse.

Another moment, he wrapped himself around me, holding me tight. He only wanted to take care of me. The Wolf loved him so much. It took until noon to convince him I was all right. I told them I needed rest. I needed to go back to KNOB, if only to tell them I was finished. When I told them this, I believed it myself.

But by evening, all I felt was angry.

Everyone- receptionist, assistants, techies- all stared at me as I walked through the reception area at the station that afternoon. No one said a word. It felt like one of those naked dreams. The Wolf- he loved hit. All those chunks of living meat, quivering like prey. But I kept it together. I'd had lots of practice keeping it together.

I didn't know what they were all thinking, how many of them thought it was for real, how many thought I was crazy. Some fear misted the air. Also curiosity.

I hadn't had a chance to talk to Antonio last night. The police dragged us to separate rooms for our statements. I didn't know what he thought about me now. He'd worked on the show long enough, I was pretty sure he believed.

He met me in the hallway. Grinning, he handed over a shoebox full of messages. I took it, studied him. A little bit of fear tensed the edges of his jaw. His shoulders were tight, his heartbeat thudded a little too loud. But he kept cool, managing to stand there like nothing was wrong. I loved him for it.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah. You?" I shrugged.

"It's weird. Everything's… different now. Like I sprouted a second head."

"Or a tail and claws- sorry. But… you're for real, aren't you?" I nodded, and he shook his head. "You're right. It's weird. That guy was right though. You could have thought of something better than caffeine."

"I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Eliza's in her office. She wants to see you." Oh, great. I smiled grimly in thanks and continued down the hall. Elizaveta stood when I opened the door. She was definitely nervous. So was I, for that matter. I tucked the box under my arm and cringed against the doorjamb. What the hell was I going to tell her?

Then I realized- I'd gone submissive, but she couldn't read the cues. She was my boss; it made sense, but still… I made a conscious effort to stand straight.

"Hi, Eliza."

"Alfred. This is-" I waited for her to speak, ducking my gaze, apologetic, not sure why I felt like I had to apologize. Then she melted, pleading with her hands. "Aw, Al, why couldn't you tell me? You didn't have to keep it secret."

"I kind of did, Eliza. There are people out there who don't really like people like me. It may be tough to deal with after this."

"Do you need more security? We'll get you security-" And what would Arthur and Mattie say about that? I was supposed to be quitting. I glanced at some of the messages. Some I expected- reporters from _National Enquirer_, _Wide World of News_, _Uncharted World_. Some I didn't- CNN? _Newsweek_? Geez, why did Mattie always have to be right?

I shook my head. "No, I've got friends." At least, I think I did. "It's okay. Any word yet on how this is playing out?"

She handed me a paper marked "Preliminary Ratings." The numbers where… big. This couldn't be right.

"We're flooded with requests to replay the show. An instant poll suggests the show's credibility shot through the roof last night. At least, among the people who believe all this shit. Before, you were just easy to talk to. Now, you know what you're talking about. The people who don't believe it think it's a publicity stunt to garner ratings, and they're dying to see how you're going to keep going. This is gold, Al. Can you keep it going?"

Arthur would just have to deal. I'd show him his half of the money when the next expansion went through. _Then_ he could deal, I was sure. "Absolutely."

"Right… look for the message from Howard Stern. He wants to do a joint show, kind of a double interview with both of you taking calls. Cross-pollination of audiences, I think it sounds great. I talked to Barbara Walters-"

"I'm not going on TV. I think you know why." My website didn't even have a photo of me.

"Yeah, yeah I do. Even so- you're going to be the country's first werewolf celebrity."

I had suspicions. "Only the first one to admit it. Thanks, Eliza. Thanks for being nice to me."

"You're still Alfred after all, right? Hey, you look like you didn't get any sleep last night. Why don't you take the rest of the day off? _After_ you call Howard Stern back."

I called Mattie as soon as I got home. The phone rang five times. I thought he'd gone out. Then he answered.

I said, "It's me. I'm going to Francis's. Will you come with me?" This was stupid, calling him. He'd tell Arthur. There was no way he wouldn't tell Arthur. Then I'd be in serious trouble. But I had to call. Who else _could_ I call? Maybe I was hoping he'd help me without any arguing.

"Have you quit the show?" I didn't answer. I think I even whined. He sighed. "You can't just pay Arthur off, you know. This isn't about the money."

"No, it's not. You don't think that's why I keep doing it, do you?"

"No. I know how much it means to you."

"Then how can you ask me to quit?"

"Because it's changing you. You never would have argued with me like this six months ago. With _Arthur_ like this. You've been picking _fights_, for Christ's sake."

I shut my eyes. My voice was hushed. "Is change all that bad?"

"You're going to get yourself _killed_. And not because of people like that assassin."

"I'm an adult. I can take care of myself."

"No, you _can't_." And that's what this was all about, wasn't it? Which one of us was right?

"Well, I guess we're going to find out." I hung up.

I made it as far as the alley behind Obsidian. Obsidian was a stylish art gallery that specialized in antiques and imports. The whole place was a front. Francis lived in the lower levels below the basement. Under the posh downtown façade, the place was a vault where the city's vampires slept out their days.

Six months ago, the idea of going to Francis's den by myself would have made me catatonic with fear. Now, at least, I could entertain the idea. But I couldn't walk those last few steps that would take me to the stairs leading to the basement door. I stood in the alley, my hands shoved into the pockets of my jacket. It was midnight, full dark. At any moment, a swarm of vampires would come crawling up those stairs. They'd take my being here as a territorial infraction and defend themselves accordingly. I could see the headline now: "Radio Show Host Murdered in Gang Dispute."

If I were lucky, if I stood here long enough, maybe Gilbert would show up and I could get his advice. Or get him to talk to Francis. He owed me a favor for working on the Elijah Smith thing, didn't he?

In the end, fear won out over anger. I only stood there a minute before turning and walking away. I still was just a cub.

When I got to the corner, hands grabbed me. No, claws. Hands turning into claws. My vision flashed with stars as I was slammed against the wall, my head cracking on brick. Someone held my shoulders in a viselike grip, pinning me to the wall, and the claws of his thumbs dug into my throat.

It was Mattie.

His fingers were shortening, his hands thickening as his wolf came to the fore. He was strangling me. His face was inches from mine, eyes flecked with gold. His teeth were bared, filtering a growl so low it rumbled through his limbs. I stared wide-eyed, gasping for breath. Wasn't a whole lot else I could do.

He said, jaw taunt. "You disobeyed. Every instinct I have is telling me to beat the fucking shit out of you. Why don't I?" I swallowed. He could rip me apart, though he hadn't yet broke skin. I could fight him. I knew I could- Wolf was writhing, screaming for a chance to escape or fight. I didn't think I could beat him in a fight. But that almost didn't matter. I wasn't whining. I wasn't going to just roll over for him.

That scared me. I didn't _want_ to fight Mattie. I had to concentrate to keep my own hands away from him. I managed to draw enough breath to speak.

"Because sometimes we have to listen to the human side." He was shaking. His hands trembled on my shoulders. I didn't move. I held his gaze, saw the creases in his brow and at the corners of his eyes, like he was too angry to keep it in, but he was trying. _Please, please_. I hoped he saw the pleading in my eyes, that he was still human enough the read the human expression.

Then he let me go. I sagged against the wall. He stared at me, a snarl pulling at his lips. Sweat matted his light blond hair to his brow. I tried to say something, but I didn't know what I _could_ say, and my throat was tight.

He turned and ran. He pulled off his shirt and threw it away as he rounded the corner. A sheen of pale blond fur had sprouted on his back. He was gone. I sat hard and pressed my face to my knees. Fuck fuck fuck. How had I gotten myself into this?

So. I didn't talk to the vampires, and I didn't quit the show.

"… all I'm saying is that if this is a cry for attention, you should maybe talk to someone, a therapist or something, about your need to act out your aggressions…"

I leaned into the mike. "Hey, who's the pop-psychologist hack here? Frankly, I host a popular radio show. You think I want _more_ attention? Next caller, please."

My stomach had been turning cartwheels all evening. Before the broadcast, I was scared to death. Not of Arthur or Mattie, though I hadn't seen either of them all week. Full moon was coming up. I didn't know what I was going to do. Go to the pack and get my ass kicked. Or spend it by myself.

No, it was because I had absolutely no idea what was going to happen during the show. I got Eliza to postpone the guest who was previously scheduled. I wanted the full two hours to deal with cleanup. I was going to open the line to calls, anything and everything. I was going to have to explain myself- over and over again.

It wasn't so bad. It never is, I suppose. Anticipation is always the worst. Half the calls so far had been surprisingly supportive, the rallying cries of devoted fans: "We're behind you all the way." I spent a lot of airtime saying thanks. Some disbelief, some threats, and some of the usual advise calls. Lots of questions.

"Have you ever killed anyone?" Three different callers had asked me that one. "No, I'm a strictly venison type."

"How did you become a werewolf?" Wow, inconsiderate much? Then again, I was talking on radio. I was supposed to expect this kind of stuff. And I did.

"I was attacked. Beyond that, I prefer not to talk about it."

"So it was, like, traumatic." What clued you on to that, smartass? The fact I was outright _attacked_ or the fact that it was a werewolf?

"Yeah. It was."

One girl came on the line crying. "I don't understand how you do it. How you can talk about this stuff and sound so calm? There are days I just want to rip my own skin off!"

I made my voice as soothing as I could. "Take it easy there, Claire. I know how you feel. I have those days, too. I count to ten a lot. And I think talking about it helps. I'm not as scared when I talk about it. Tell me something: What do you hate most about being a werewolf?"

Her breathing had slowed; her voice was more steady. "Not remembering. Sometimes when I wake up, I don't remember what I did. I'm scared that I've done something horrible."

"Why is that?"

"I remember how I feel. I remember how the blood tastes. And… and I remember that I like it. When I'm human, it makes me want to throw up."

I didn't have to mince words anymore. I could answer her from experience now, which I couldn't have done before last week. She probably wouldn't have called me before last week.

"I think when we Change, a lot of human is still there. If we want to be a part of civilization, it stays with us. It keeps us from doing some of the things we're capable of. I guess that's part of the reason I'm here, doing the show and trying to lead a relatively normal life. I'm trying to civilize the Wolf part of me."

"Is it working?"

Good question. "So far so good."

"Thanks, Alfred."

"One day at a time, Claire. Next caller, hello."

"I knew it. I knew you were one." I recognized the voice- a repeat caller. I glanced at the monitor, and sure enough.

"How are you, Toris?"

"I'm still alone." The declaration was simple and stark.

"I'm almost afraid to ask but, how did you know?"

"I don't know," he said, and I could picture him shrugging. "You know what you're talking about. It's the only way you could know." Eager as a puppy, he continued. "So, what's it like for you? Do you have a pack?"

Gosh, did I? I wasn't so sure anymore. I'd been beaten up by Mattie, I'd disobeyed Arthur- when I showed up for the next full moon, I wasn't so sure they'd have me. I took a chance. "Yes, I do." Optimistic to a fault, that's me.

"What is it like? What're _they_ like?"

Occasionally, a werewolf attacked someone and there wasn't a pack to take care of the victim, to show him what had happened, to teach him how to live with it. Toris must have been one of those. I couldn't imagine that. Mattie held me my first full moon, the first time I shifted. It made it easier, at least a little.

I tried to be honest. Or honest for that particular moment in time. "Well. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Some much for the sense of humor. "I value my pack a whole lot. It's been there for me when I needed it. But it can be frustrating. There isn't a whole lot of room for argument."

I wondered if Arthur or Mattie were listening.

"But do you think werewolves need to be in a pack."

"I think packs serve a good purpose. They keep werewolves under some sort of control, so they don't go hunting sheep. Or small children- that was a joke, by the way."

"You don't think a werewolf can make it on his own, then?"

"I didn't say that. It's just that in my experience, it would be hard."

"Oh."

"You said you're alone, Toris. How do you handle it?"

"I… I don't." He hung up, the line clicking off. Great. I felt queasy about that one. Ominous.

"Right. Thanks for calling, Toris."

Antonio was waving through the window, pointing at the door to the booth. Gilbert was standing there. I hadn't noticed him come in. He was lounging against the doorjamb like he'd been there for hours. He waved his hand in a blasé greeting.

I turned back to the mike. "Okay, we're going to break for station ID. More calls when we get back. This is _The Midnight Hour_." Antonio made a cutting motion that signaled we were off the air. This gave the local stations a few minutes for commercials and promotions. I pulled off my headphones and went to the door.

"Hey, Gil." I tried to sound casual. Like there weren't a multitude of reasons for a vampire to be contacting me. Either he was going to deliver a scathing message from Francis or he wanted to know what I'd found out about the Church of the Pure Faith. I still hadn't learned much.

"Hello. So, this is the famous studio."

"Yeah. Not to be rude, but I'm going to have to get back to it in a minute. So, what can I do for you?"

"I thought we might trade information. What have you found out about Elijah Smith?"

There it was. I shrugged. "Not much. Nobody who knows him is talking. A couple of reporters tried to sneak into his caravan once and got thrown out. I'm going to keep at it. I've still got a couple of leads to try. I'm sorry I can't give you more." He pursed his lips, masking disappointment.

"Well, maybe your persistence will pay off. In the meantime…"

He offered me a manila envelope. "I heard your show last week. I thought you might be interested in this."

"What is it?"

"Evidence," he said. "Now you don't have a reason to go poking around Obsidian by yourself again, hm?" I looked up. My throat got tight.

"You know about that?"

He nodded. "So does Francis. He's disappointed you didn't give him a chance to act against you directly."

"Yeah, I bet he is." How _stupid_ could I have been? Of course Francis had guards posted. Of _course_ they spotted me. Score another point for cowardly self-preservation.

I took the envelope and scooped inside for the contents. There were a few photos, weirdly lit in black and white, like they had been taken with some kind of night vision camera. There was a forested area. I recognized the slope of hill behind Arthur and Sanvi's house. A couple of people were running with a couple of wolves. One of the faces was circled. Mine, of course. A couple of photos later in the sequence, I was ripping off my clothes and my body was changing shape. These were copies of the photos that set Ivan on me. They could have at least tried something that looked a bit more flattering. The Change wasn't a pretty thing to watch. I put them back.

The rest of the envelope held a half-dozen pages of information. Some phone records, a terse written agreement- someone putting a contract on you didn't mean it was actually a _contract_. I didn't think hit men gave out receipts.

Gilbert explained. "Those show phone calls between Francis and his go-between, and the go-between and Ivan. The go-between is a woman with ties to the local militia movement. Ivan has a background with them. She's been discussing with Francis the possibility of, ah, signing up, as it were. She'd do anything for him."

"What else do you know about Ivan?"

"He doesn't work cheap. There are some figures listed." He showed me the appropriate piece of paper. I blinked.

"Shit, that's a lot of zeroes."

"Yup."

"Francis wants me dead _that_ badly?"

"Oh, I don't know. He had backing. There's a whole conglomerate that's unhappy with you."

"Who else?"

"That I'm afraid I don't know. Sorry."

"No, don't apologize. This is great." In fact, I was choked up. I'd been feeling friendless lately, and here came help from such an unexpected quarter. "Why help me like this? If Francis finds out you did this-"

"Don't worry about that. He doesn't have to know. You may not believe it, but there are some of us who think you're doing good work." There was a possibility that Francis had put him up to this, that this was all part of some nefarious plot to… to do _something_.

Gilbert deserved better than that kind of attitude. I sighed, humbled. "Thanks. Could you get a copy of all this to Ivan?"

"Already done."

"Thanks, Gil. I owe you one." He tilted his head, regarding the ceiling for a moment.

"You know, I could also be helping you because it would make Francis crazy." He winked, grinned, and slipped out as quietly as he'd arrived. He melted into the shadows at the other end of the corridor. Like a vampire or something. Weird.

Antonio was staring. "Was that… was that a…" He made a gesture, to fingers pointing down from his mouth like fangs.

"Yeah. So, Antonio, how do you feel about this job now?" He shook his head, whistling through his teeth.

"Never a dull moment." A pause of silence, and then, "So… do you have his number?"

The next day at work, I had a list of phone numbers sitting on top of the pile of crap spread all over my desk- ratings projections, transcripts, unanswered mail, phone messages, newspapers and magazines that I used as fodder. The headline on _Wide World of News_ this week was "Following Alfred Jones's Lead, Dozens of Vampire and Werewolf Celebrities Confess!" They had pictures of Quentin Tarantino, David Bowie, Britney Spears (huh?) and… Bill Clinton? Yeah, right.

I'd made it to the cover of _Wide World of News_. I must have really hit the big time. Or something.

I crossed off phone numbers as I made calls. Reporters, police departments, people who knew people who'd disappeared into Elijah Smith's caravan. I'd already talked to the reporters from _Uncharted World_ who'd tried to break into the caravan. One of them had a theory that Smith was actually a front for government researchers who needed vampire and werewolf test subjects. The other one sounded a bit more sane, thinking that some sort of cult of personality had formed around Elijah Smith. Neither one of them believed he was really curing anyone. We couldn't know, because we couldn't talk to any of his people.

No one left him. The caravan was growing. What if it worked?

I tracked the latest piece of the puzzle to Modesto, California, where the caravan had parked two nights ago. The police there had tried to issue Smith citations for trespassing and causing a disturbance. The two officers who'd been sent to issue the tickets woke up in their patrol car the next morning with no memory of what had happened over the last eight hours. The caravan was gone. I tried to talk to the officers in question, but apparently they were still in the hospital, for observation. I spent two hours on the phone, but no one would tell me what was wrong with them, or where they thought the caravan would appear next.

As I hung up the phone, one of the KNOB interns brought me a letter. She bopped into the room, handed it to me, and bopped out again. It didn't have a stamp or return address- it had be hand-delivered. I should have been suspicious. But I had a feeling. It smelled okay… I opened it and drew out a card, blank except for a handwritten line, _You were right. I owe you one_, and a phone number.

* * *

_And that concludes our latest chapter! So, were you excited that Ivan finally makes his appearance? I sure was. I have a feeling we're gonna see a lot more of him, eh? :D_

_As for the Russian in this chapter... decided to just completely bypass it and write anything that Ivan would have said in Russian, in bold. I just figured that it'd be easier on me, since I don't know Russian anyways. So now, I won't have to worry about translation or anything! Yay, laziness!_

_So! Who's excited for the next chapter!? I know I am! Guess you're gonna have to wait until next Friday! Until then, guys!_


	4. Act I Part IV

_Okay guys! Exciting new chapter! I think you're gonna be surprised at the beautiful plot twists. Oh yes. Heheh._

_A little shout out to the guest reviewer petrolsocken. Even if you aren't the petrolsocken from tumblr (but if you are holy cow that is just super awesome because I JUST FEEL SO UNWORTHY BECAUSE YOU'RE SO AWESOME), I would like to spare a small moment to say that she's an amazing hetalia artist and any of you guys that don't know her should really go check her out because she's amazing! And, as a bonus, she does a lot of RusAme art too! So really, it's a win/win situation to go and stop by her tumblr and check her out._

_Okay, now that I'm done with all that fangirling and gushing and all that, I would like to put a little WARNING that there is some gore in this chapter. Not a lot, kinda minor (i think) but just in case, I'll give you guys a little heads up. _

* * *

_Part Four_

"Hello, you're on _The Midnight Hour_.

"I want to know about the orgies."

"The… orgies?"

"Yeah, the vampire orgies. How do I found out where they are? How do I get in one of them?"

"Hm… let's see. Are you a vampire?" No.

"Yeah." Pft.

"Then you usually get invited. Are you part of an organized Family, or are you on your own?"

"I have a Family." He sounded indignant, like how dare I suggest he wasn't sufficiently pedigreed. I rolled my eyes.

"Not all Families have orgies. I mean- what kind of orgy are you looking for?"

"You know… orgies. An _orgy_ orgy." Lord. I could almost see the vague hand gestures accompanying his speech. The alarm bells started going off- that little twitching in my mind when I suspected I was being had. My BS meter had been steadily rising.

I said, "_Orgy_ orgy. Right. How long have you been a vampire?"

"Uh… not _too_ long." I'm sure.

"No, really. How long specifically? Because you realize that 'not long' has an entirely different scope to some vampires. If you've been around since the Roman Empire, 'not long' might be a couple of centuries, you know? How long is 'not long'?"

"Um… a year?" He was fishing for the right answer, the one that would get him on my good side.

"Okay, what's your name… Dan. Right. You're not a vampire."

"But-"

"You know why you're not? Because vampires don't have _orgy_ orgies. You're looking for lots of hot sex with nubile vampire babes, and you're thinking a vampire orgy is the place to get it because you've heard all these stories. Right?"

"But… but… I mean…"

"But you know what? Sex is different for vampires. When a vampire says sex and a normal human says sex, they're talking about two different things. Because vampires don't have sex without sucking blood. Sex is almost synonymous with feeding for them. Are you getting this, Dan? If you feel like being the main course, by all means, go find yourself a vampire orgy, because I can tell you exactly what those nubile vampire babes are going to do to you."

"But… I mean… the stories… I've heard…" Gullible _and_ inarticulate. Gotta love it.

"Next caller. You're on the air. Bruce?"

"Um, hi, yeah. I wanted to know, could I get the phone number for that assassin who was on the show last month?"

I raise an eyebrow. "You mean Ivan? You want Ivan's phone number?" I couldn't keep the tone of annoyance out of my voice. "The same Ivan who tried to, you know, kill me?"

"Yeah."

"May I ask _why_ you want Ivan's phone number?"

"Well, you know. I kind of wanted to ask if he needs an assistant or an apprentice or something." Mercy.

"So, Bruce, you want to be a werewolf hunter?"

"Yeah."

"It's a dangerous line of work. You ever seen a werewolf in action?"

"Um… on TV. You know- on _Uncharted World_ and stuff."

"Oh, geez, the videos on that show are _so_ doctored. Let me tell you what it really looks like. The average werewolf has four sets of claws as long as your fingers. Two-inch-long canines. Jaw pressure five times that of a human. And werewolves are fast. I'm talking a two-minute mile. Can you run that fast, Bruce?"

"Uh-"

"No. Can you shoot straight?"

"Uh-"

"Do you know how long it takes the average werewolf to tear apart a full-grown deer?"

"No-"

I smiled sweetly, a flash of white teeth and fangs. The expression was lost on the radio, but the tone would carry through my voice. "The last time I did it, it took about five minutes. And the last time I was allowed to take down my own deer by myself was _quite_ awhile ago. I'm sure it's shorter now."

I swore I heard Bruce gulp over the line. "Whoa."

"Sorry, Bruce, it's kind of against my own personal self-interest to do free advertising for werewolf hunters. You know what I mean? Thanks for calling."

I did an inward shudder. People would _not_ shut up about Ivan, and it was getting on my nerves. Believe it or not, I actually _didn't_ want to constantly talk about a hunter that was an expert at killing my kind and had been minutes away from putting a silver bullet in my head. Shocking, I know.

"Next caller. Betty, you're on the air. What's your question?"

"Hi, Alfred. I just wanted to know, are you going out with that Ivan guy from last month?"

My jaw dropped. I took a full five seconds to recover just enough to say, "What?"

"Are you going out with that Ivan guy?"

"We're talking about the same Ivan who tried to kill me on air, yes? The guy who hunts werewolves for a living? _That_ _guy_?" Him being a guy was the least of the issues here, but I still felt the need to point it out.

"Uh-huh."

"And you want to know if I'm _dating _him? Why on earth do you think _that's_ a good idea?"

"Well, I sort of sensed something between you two when he was on the show."

"You… sensed… something. Are you psychic?"

"I don't think so."

"Empathic?"

"No."

"Clairvoyant?"

"No."

"Then _why_ the _hell_ do you think we would go out? Of _course _you sensed something! He hunts werewolves. I'm a werewolf. There's this whole hunter-prey dynamic that happens. He wanted to kill me, I was ready to defend myself. Claws and bullets on the verge of flying _everywhere_! _That_ was what you were sensing."

"But he _didn't_ kill you. You worked it out. He sounded kind of nice. His voice sounded _really_ cute. Exotic. Was he cute?" Face, meet desk. I had to restrain myself from growling.

"Well, yeah, sort of. If you like guys who wear revolvers in hip holsters and want them to menacingly point said revolvers at you with an intent to murder." Ah yes. Hello sarcasm, my dear old friend. We've been seeing a lot of each other lately.

"It's just that you sound kind of anxious whenever anyone brings up Ivan, and I thought there might be unresolved tension there."

"He tried to _kill_ me! What other explanation do you _need_? Moving on to the next call. Hello!"

"Um, hi, Alfred. I sort of forgot my question. But that last caller's idea- about you going out with Ivan and stuff. That would be kind of interesting, don't you think?"

"No. No, I don't think it would be interesting _at all_." My patience was one step away from falling off the edge of the Grand Canyon.

"Well, it's just that you're always talking about cross-supernatural racial understanding, and that would, you know, make a bridge. It would be diplomatic."

Yeah. Diplomatic. I thought real hard about being diplomatic before I answered. "Just a reminder: This is _my_ show. _I'm _the one who's supposed to give out the lousy advice." I searched the monitor for a call that couldn't possibly have anything to do with werewolf hunters.

"Hello, Ingrid from Minneapolis."

"Hi, Alfred. I just wanted to tell you that I'm a werewolf. I've been one for about ten years now, and I'm married to the most wonderful man in the world. _And_ he's a wildlife control officer. We get along fine; we're just careful to keep the lines of communication open."

The studio was getting stuffy. I fanned myself with my cue sheet, water bottle at the ready.

"Wow, Ingrid. That's really interesting. Can I ask how you two met?"

"Well, it was a full moon night-"

I read between the lines of the story and was willing to bet that Mr. Ingrid had a fur fetish. It happened sometimes. But they sounded happy and that was what mattered, right?

"… so I wouldn't let your prejudice against bounty hunters interfere with what might turn out to be something wonderful." I could hear muffled glass shattering in the distance.

Keeping my voice as even as possible, I said, "I don't have a prejudice against bounty hunters. I have a prejudice against people who are trying to kill me."

Antonio started waving frantically at me through the booth window. "Al, you gotta take line two."

"What? Why?" I checked the monitor. "There's no name. Didn't you screen it?"

"Just take the call."

I punched the line. "Yes? What?"

"Jones. It's Ivan. If you don't change the subject right now, I'm going to go over there and have a word with you." Ivan. Geez. I was surprisingly flattered that he even listened to the show. It was also kind of creepy.

"What do you think I've been _trying_ to do?" Not that he'd know it from the last fifteen minutes. I wondered what would happen if I called his bluff. Feeling kind of devious, I said, "But hey, thanks for calling. So, you _did_ get out of jail."

"DA didn't want to prosecute without your testimony. Got off scot-free."

"And have you ever dated a werewolf?"

There was a pause a couple of beats. "That is none of your business."

He didn't flat out deny it. Huh-ho, how interesting.

"What if someone you were dating was attacked and infected with lycanthropy and became a werewolf? Would you dump them? Would you feel a deep, instinctual desire to kill them?" So devious.

"Change the topic. I mean it."

"Ivan, when was the last time you went on a date?" One of the challenges of doing a radio show was judging everything by people's voices. I couldn't see their faces and expressions. I had to gauge the inflections of their voices to judge their moods and reactions.

So while I couldn't see Ivan's face, and I was hoping that I was at least annoying him a little bit, I could tell by the lightness in his voice from his next reply that he was grinning. "Jones, when was the last time _you_ went on a date?"

The phone clicked off. Bastard. You can't counter a question with a question like that. It was… rude! And stuff.

"That, my friend, is none of your business," I seethed into the microphone. I straightened, donned a smile, and thought happy thoughts. My claws around Ivan's throat. My hands itched.

A couple of days later I was still trying to clean up that same pile of crap on my desk when I got a phone call.

"Hello. How are you, Mr. Jones?"

It was the CDC guy, Paranatural Biology, whatever flavor of government spook he was. I should have expected him to call again at some point.

"Hello, Mr. Throat."

"Excuse me?"

"Never mind. What can I do for you?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary. I'd just like to talk."

"The last time you called to have a chat, you hung up on me."

"I have to be careful. I don't think you quite understand my position-"

I huffed, exasperated. "Of course not; you haven't told me what your position is!" At this point, I was betting he was a wacko with delusions of grandeur trying to incorporate me into his paranoid fantasy. Then again, he might have been that _and_ some kind of government spook.

He made an annoyed sigh. "I wanted to talk to you about your revelation. I'd wondered, of course. About your identity. This is a very brave move you've made."

"How so?"

"You've exposed yourself. But you've also created an opportunity. You might be making my job easier."

"You still haven't told me what your job is."

"I think you know more than you're letting on."

He'd mention the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. He must have been involved with that project, involved with reporting the findings to the government.

"Let's check that," I said. "The publicity my show is generating in some way lends weight to the research that's going on. You're trying to bring attention to that study, and my show is opening the door to that. Doing the legwork for you. Before too long, people will be demanding that the study be exposed."

"That's a distinct possibility," He sounded like he was smiling, like he was pleased.

"Can I ask a couple of questions?"

"I reserve the right not to answer."

"Oh, always. Why wasn't that study given more publicity to begin with? It's over a year old. It wasn't classified, but it was just… ignored."

"Ironically, classifying it would have drawn more attention to it, and some people don't want that. As for publicizing it- secrecy is a powerful tool among some communities."

Like vampires. I had my own streak of paranoia in that regard. "Next question. How did you get your test subjects to participate? Based on that secrecy you just mentioned, why would they submit to examination?"

"May I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"If there was a cure, would you take it?"

A couple of months after the attack, when I'd gotten over the shock and started finding my feet again, I did a lot of research. I read about wolves. I read all the folklore I could get my hands on. A lot of stories talked about cures. Kill the wolf that made the werewolf. I couldn't exactly try that one, not if I didn't want the entire pack out for my hide. Drink a tea made of wolfsbane under a new moon. That one just made me sick.

Then I gave up. Because it wasn't so bad. Really.

"I don't know," I said finally. "Does the name Elijah Smith ring a bell with you?"

"No. Should it?"

"You might want to look it up. Is that what you guys are doing? Looking for a cure?"

"Tell me- who do you talk to when you need advice?" What was this, a game of questions?

"Are you offering to be my bartender?"

"No. I just- respect you. Listen, keep your eyes and ears open. You might experience some… trouble… in your area soon. Goodbye, Mr. Jones."

"Wait-!" But he'd already hung up. What the fuck was that all about?

I needed a drink. I needed a bodyguard.

The phone rang again, and I nearly jumped out of my chair. I swear to God, if I wasn't doing a call-in radio show, I'd get and unlisted number.

"Hello?" I tried not to let my grumpy mood shine through. Couldn't really tell if I was succeeding.

"Mr. Jones?" Ah, I recognized that Irish lilt.

"Oh, hello, Detective O'Sullivan."

"You remember me. Good."

"I'm not likely to forget that night." Probably the second most fear intensive night of my life.

"No, I guess not. I wondered if I could get you to do a little consulting on a case."

"What about?"

She paused; I could hear her drawing a deep breath over the phone, like she was steeling herself. "It's a crime scene. A murder."

I closed my eyes. "And you think something supernatural did it."

"I'm pretty sure. But I want a second opinion before I start making noise. It could get ugly." She was telling me? All it would take was one rogue vampire sucking dry and adorable preteen girl.

"You know I don't have any sort of training in this, no forensics or even first aid."

"I know. But you're the only person I know who has any familiarity with this subject."

"Except for Ivan, eh?"

"I don't trust him." That was something, anyway, getting a cop to trust a monster more than a monster killer. Maybe the show was doing some good after all. Maybe my being exposed would do some good.

"I'll need a ride."

"I'm on my way."

O'Sullivan picked me up in an unmarked police sedan. As soon as she pulled away from the curb she started a rambling monologue. It sounded casual, but her knuckles were white and her brow was furrowed. She was also smoking, sucking on her cigarette like it was her first all day, tapping the ashes out the cracked window.

"I started listening to your show. That night we got called to your studio was so weird- I was curious. I still am. I'm learning more all the time. I've been going over all our mauling death cases from the last few years. Most of them are too old to have any evidence to follow up on, or we caught the animal that did it. But now- I don't think I can ever write off one of these to wild dogs again. You convinced me. You guys are known for ripping people's throats out."

She looked at me sideways, smiling grimly. She had curly, fiery hair tied in a short ponytail. Green eyes. Didn't wear makeup. Her clothes were functional, shirt, trousers, and blazer. Nothing glamorous about her. She was intensely straightforward.

I slumped against the passenger side door. "We don't _all_ rip people's throats out."

"Fair enough. Anyway, a year ago I would have been looking for a pack of wild dingoes escaped from the zoo on a case like this. But now-"

"You're stalling. How bad is it?"

She gripped the steering wheel. "I don't know. How strong is your stomach?"

I hesitated. I ate raw meat on a regular basis, but not by preference. "It depends on what I'm doing," I said, dodging.

"What do you mean, what you're doing?" How did I explain that it depended on how many legs I was walking on at the time? I couldn't guess if that would freak her out. She might try to arrest me. Best to let it go.

"Never mind."

"She was a prostitute, eighteen years old. The body is in three separate pieces. Not counting fragments. Jagged wounds consistent with the bite and claw marks of a large predator. The… mass of the remains does not initially appear equal to the original mass of the victim."

"Shit," I muttered, rubbing my forehead. She'd been eaten. Maybe I wasn't ready for this after all.

"It wasn't a full moon night," she said. "Could it still be a werewolf that did it?"

"Werewolves can shape-shift any time they want. Full moon nights are the only time they _have_ to."

"How do I tell if this is a lycanthrope and not a big, angry dog?"

"Smell," I said without thinking.

"What?"

"Smell. A lycanthrope smells different. At least, to another lycanthrope."

"Okay," she drawled. "And if you aren't around to use as a bloodhound?"

I sighed. "If you can find DNA samples of the attacker, there are markers. There's an obscure CDC report about lycanthrope DNA markers. I'll get you the reference. Are you sure it wasn't just a big dog?"

If the attacker were a werewolf, it would just about have to be one of Arthur's pack. But I didn't think any of them were capable of hunting in the city, of going rogue like that. They'd have to answer to Arthur. If there were a strange werewolf in town, Arthur would confront him for invading his territory.

I dreaded what I was going to find. If I smelled the pack at this place, if I could tell who did it- did I tell O'Sullivan, or did I make excuses until I talked to Arthur? Nervously, I tapped my foot on the floorboard. O'Sullivan glanced at it, so I stopped.

We drove to Capitol Hill, the bad part of town even for people like me. Lots of old-fashioned, one-story houses gone to ruin, overgrown yards, gangbanger cars cruising the intersections in daylight. The whole street was cordoned off by police cruisers and yellow tape. A uniformed officer waved O'Sullivan through. She parked on the curb near an alley. An ambulance was parked there, and the place crawled with people wearing uniforms and plastic gloves.

In addition, vans from three different local news stations were parked at the end of the street. Camera-men hefted video cameras; a few well-dressed people who must have been reporters lurked nearby. The police were keeping them back, but the camera-men had their equipment aimed like the film was rolling.

I kept O'Sullivan between me and the cameras as we walked to the crime scene. She spoke to a guy in a suit, then we turned to make introductions.

"Alfred Jones, Detective Karpusi." The detective's eyes widened slightly, before his face returned to the relaxed expression he'd had before.

"The werewolf celebrity?" he asked with minimal curiosity filtering into his almost monotone voice.

"Yeah," I said, an edge of challenge in my voice. I offered my hand. For a minute I didn't think he was going to shake it, but he did. He stood about the same height I did, and I really didn't _think_ I looked that scary. And I had a winning smile.

Karpusi said to O'Sullivan, "You sure this is a good idea? IF those guys find out he's here, they're going to have a field day." He pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the news vans. That was just what I needed, my face all over the nightly news. "Werewolves Loose Downtown."

"I'll keep an eye on them. He's a consultant, that's all." Too late. We were already attracting attention. One of the cameras pointed at us. A woman reporter in a tailored skirt suit glanced at the camera, then us. As soon as their attention was on us, the other news teams looked to see what they'd found. In my jeans and sweater, I was obviously a civilian in a place where the cops didn't normally allow civilians. The media would ask questions. I turned my back to the news-people.

"I don't like cameras," I said. "I'd rather people don't know what I look like."

"Okay." O'Sullivan shifted, blocking the cameras' view of me. "Karpusi, get people into those buildings to make sure they don't try filming down from the windows."

"Already done."

"Good. This shouldn't take too long."

"Let's just get it over with," I said. Karpusi lead us both to the mouth of the alley.

I'd seen what werewolves and vampires could do when they really lost it, when all they knew was blood and slaughter. Shredded venison. Deer guts everywhere, with a half-dozen wolves swimming in the carcass. I thought I knew what to expect. This was nothing like it.

Her eyes were open. Blood caked her dark hair, splattered her slack face, but I saw the eyes first, frozen and glistening. The head was about four feet away from the rest of the remains. My vision gave out for a moment, turning splotchy. There were pieces. Legs twisted one way, naked arms and torso twisted another way, clothing torn right along with them. A spill of organs- shining, dark lumps- lay between them. Like rejects from a butcher's shop, not something that belonged out on the street, in the open.

The worst part was, I could work out how the attacker had done it. Claws together in the belly, ripped outward in opposite directions, jaws on the throat-

I was human. I couldn't do that. I couldn't _think_ it. But the Wolf could. Did. For a second, I didn't know which I was, because I was stuck between them. I had to remind myself who I was. I covered my mouth and turned away.

Some joker in a uniform laughed. "And you call yourself a monster." I glared, eyes piercing- another wolf would have taken it as a challenge. But this clown couldn't read the signs.

"I've _never_ ripped anyone's throat out," I said. Though I'd got close with Nikolai…

O'Sullivan stood at my shoulder. "She's the third one to match this MO in the last two months. The first two were written off as wild animal mauling deaths. Coyotes, maybe. Then I started asking questions. We found that the saliva on the bite wounds is human. Mostly human, anyway."

I turned the corner out of the alley and leaned against the wall. So. Could werewolves really overcome their natures to be productive members of society, or was I just blowing smoke? I wanted to believe a lycanthrope hadn't done this. That O'Sullivan was wrong; this was just some animal-

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

The smell of blood and decay was overpowering. The victim had been lying here since the previous night. Carrion, my other self hinted, salivating. _Stop it_. I went further, to the little smells that fringed my senses, like the flash of sunlight on rippling water.

Tar and asphalt. Car exhaust. O'Sullivan had brushed her teeth recently. Mint and tobacco. Rats. And… there it was. A wild smell, incongruous with the city's signature scents. Musky and fierce. And human, under it all. Male. He smelled of skin and fur. I didn't recognize the individual scent mark. Nor did it smell like my pack- Arthur's group. I was almost relieved. Except that it meant we had a rogue wolf running around.

"It's a werewolf," I said, opening my eyes.

O'Sullivan was watching me, her gaze narrowed. "Friend of yours?"

I glared. "No. Look, you asked for my help, but if you're going to go all suspicious on me, I'm going to leave."

"Sorry," she said, holding up her hands in a defensive gesture. "But if I understand it correctly, if I was listening close enough to your show, you have packs, right? Can I assume you know other werewolves in the city?"

She'd done some homework, for which I had to give grudging admiration. She stood close- but not so close she couldn't duck out of arm's reach in a second- one arm propped on the wall. Her expression wasn't inquisitive anymore. She wasn't looking for me to answer. Suspicion radiated off her.

"You didn't bring me here as a consultant," I said, "You think I can tell you who did this. You want me for questioning."

She bowed her head for a moment; when she returned her gaze to me, her determined expression confirmed it. "You said you could smell it. If you know who did this, I really need you to tell me."

"I don't know who did this. You have to believe me."

"I could take you in as a material witness."

"_Witness_? I didn't see anything!"

"You're in possession of a piece of evidence our forensics people don't have. That makes you a witness." My head was spinning. She'd drawn me straight into the middle of this, but there was no way she could hold me there. Precedents, legal precedents- I was going to need a research assistant before too long. Was I out of my mind? There weren't going to be any legal precedents.

O'Sullivan continued. "Would you recognize the wolf that did this if you ran into him?"

"Yeah. I think I would."

"Then keep in touch. Let me know if you find out anything. That's all I want." She wanted me to be a freakin' witness for a crime I had nothing to do with and was nowhere near. The manipulative bitch.

"There's no way in hell an after-the-fact witness by smell would be admissible in court. The courts aren't going to know what do to with that kind of testimony."

"Not yet," she said with a wry smile. "Give me another minute and I'll drive you back." One of the reporters, the woman in the suit, was waiting for us at O'Sullivan's car. A man held a camera pointed at us, over her shoulder.

"Shit," I muttered.

O'Sullivan frowned. "Ignore them. Walk by like they're not even there." Easy for her to say.

"They can't air pictures of me without my permission, right?"

"They can. Sorry." I hunched my shoulders and ducked my head, unwilling to lose my dignity to the point of covering my face. Besides, it was too late.

The reporter dodged O'Sullivan and came straight toward me, wielding a microphone. "Angela Bryant, KTNC. You're Alfred Jones, the radio show host, right? What is your involvement with this, Mr. Jones? _Are_ you a witness? _Is_ there a supernatural element to these deaths?"

For once, I kept my mouth shut. I let O'Sullivan open the car door and close it when I'd climbed inside. Calmly, she made her way to the driver's side. I propped my elbow on the inside door and shielded my face with my hand.

We drove away.

O'Sullivan said, "For a celebrity, you're a shy one."

"I've always liked radio for its anonymity." Anyone I'd went to university with would have told you I was the most outgoing guy in every party. But ever since the attack… well, I didn't get in the habit of putting myself out there, for obvious reasons.

We stopped in front of the KNOB studio. I was about to get out of the car- slink out of the car as innocently as I could- when O'Sullivan stopped me.

"One more question." I braced. She reached into her coat pocket. "I felt stupid when I went looking for these. But they were easier to find than I thought they'd be. I guess there really is a market for this kind of thing. I have to know, though- will they work?"

She opened her hand, revealing a trio of nine-millimeter bullets, shiny and silver. I stared at them like she was holding a poisonous snake at me, and I could feel the hair on my neck and my arms rising. Wolf's hackles were up and the smell burned my nose like sulfur.

"Yeah," I said. "They'll work."

"Thanks." She pocketed the bullets. "Maybe I should invest in a couple of crosses, too."

"Don't forget wooden stakes." Waving a half-assed good-bye, I fled before the conversation got any further.

The phone rang eight times. Didn't the guy have voice mail? I was about to give up when he finally answered.

"**What is it? Who is this?**" What the fuck did he just said to me?

"Uh, Ivan? Is this Ivan?" Please let it not be just some prank number. I could not handle that right now.

There was a long pause. Then, "Jones?"

"Yeah. That's me."

"So…" Another long pause. Terse, that was the word. "Why are you calling me?" All aboard the creepy express to awkward-vile.

"I just talked to the cops. That spate of mauling deaths downtown? A werewolf did it. I didn't recognize the scent. It's a rogue."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Bastard.

I'd seen his rates. Despite the show's success, I couldn't exactly hire him to hunt the rogue. Did I actually think he was going to do it out of the kindness of his heart? Did he think I thought that? By the smug little tone to his voice, he must have. And he was laughing at my naivety. Well, it wasn't like I was expecting him to anyways, so, jokes on him! Ha!

"I don't know. Just keep your eyes open. Maybe I didn't want you to think it was me." There. Take that.

"How do I know you're not lying to me about it now?"

I winced. "You don't?" Maybe this was a bad idea?

"Don't worry. You said it yourself. You're harmless, right?" That damn smug tone again.

"Yeah," I said weakly, "that's me."

"Thanks for the tip." He hung up.

What was it with everyone thinking they could just hang up on me? _I_ never hung up on anybody! At least not outside the show. Well, not often.

Then I realized… I'd talked to the werewolf hunter about this before talking to Arthur.

I was going to have to talk to Arthur soon anyway. Until now, I'd been avoiding him, but the full moon was tomorrow, and I didn't want to go through it alone, still clung to the hope that I wouldn't have to. The thought… sort of scared me. He wasn't going to let the fact that I was still doing the show pass without comment. I'd sort of hoped I could just show up and slink along with the pack without any of them noticing. That was about as likely as me turning up my nose at one of Mattie's barely cooked steaks and a fresh batch of pancakes. It was really a matter of deciding in which situation- just showing up, or facing him beforehand- I was least likely to get the shit beat out of me. No, which situation I would get _the least_ amount of shit beat out of me.

Maybe it would have been easier if Ivan had just shot me.

I called Mattie first. My stomach was in knots. I thought I was going to be sick, waiting for him to pick up the phone. I hadn't talked to him since the night outside of the Obsidian.

He answered. My gut clenched. But it was still good to hear his voice.

"It's me. I need to talk to you. And Arthur and Sanvi." For a long time, he didn't say anything. I listened hard- was he beating his head against the wall? Growling?

Then he said, "I'll pick you up."

I rode beside him in his truck, an awkward silence between us. We hadn't spoken yet. I'd waited on the curb for him, shoulders bunched up and slouching. He'd pulled up and I didn't meet his gaze. I'd climbed into the truck, cowering slightly. He'd turned and ruffled my hair, a quick pass of his hand over my scalp. I'm not sure what this said. I was sorry that he was angry at me, but I wasn't sorry for anything I'd said or done. I didn't want to fight him, and I didn't want to be submissive. That would be admitting he was right. So I wallowed in doubt. He'd touched me, which meant- which meant that maybe things weren't so bad.

We pulled up in front of Sanvi and Arthur's house. He got out. I stayed in. I didn't want to do this. Mattie slowly came up to the passenger side of the truck and crossed his arms, standing in front of the door.

"This was your idea, remember?"

"He's gonna kill me," I despaired.

"Come on." He opened the door and laid his hand on my arm. I stumbled out and let him guide me up the driveway, like I was some kind of truant.

He opened the front door and maneuvered me inside. Arthur and Sanvi were in the kitchen, parked at the breakfast bar like they'd been waiting for us. Mattie had probably called ahead. Sanvi had been leaning with her elbows on the countertop; Arthur had his back to the counter. Both of them straightened. With them in front of me and Mattie behind me, I suddenly felt like I was at a tribunal. I shrugged away from Mattie's hand. The least I could do was stand on my own feet.

Arthur stood before me with his arms crossed, glaring straight at my eyes. "You haven't quit the show. What do you have to say for yourself?" I thought I'd finished with that phrase when I moved out of my parents' house. I shrugged, managing looking much more nonchalant that I was feeling.

"I got a raise." He cocked his hand back to strike, and I ducked. We both froze in mid-motion. He stood with his fist in the air, and I bowed my back, my knees ready to give, cowering. Then he relaxed, and I did the same, straightening slowly, muscles taunt and waiting for him to change his mind and hit me anyway. This was so fucked up. But all Wolf wanted to do was put his tail between his legs and whine until Arthur told us he loved us again. I felt a little sick.

His hands opened and closed into fists at his side. "Can't you say anything without trying to get a rise out of people?"

"No."

Arthur moved away to stalk up and down the length of the kitchen. Sanvi, arms crossed, stared at me much in the same way my mom might have stared at me if she'd caught me with drugs or something. Slightly angry, but mostly concerned with learning the '"why's" and "how's" of the situation, her eyes searching for the answers in my face. I cringed and tried to look contrite, but she wasn't having any of it.

Nothing to do but plow ahead, now that I was here. What was it some weird philosophy professor had said to me once? _What's the worst thing that can happen? You'll die. And we don't know that's bad…_

Ah, so that was why I'd changed my major to English. I wasn't here to talk about me, though.

"The police came to talk to me-"

"_What_?" Mattie said, gripping my shoulder. Arthur and Sanvi both moved toward me. I ducked and turned, getting away from Mattie's grasp and fleeing to the living room, putting the sofa between them and me.

"Just listen! You have to listen to me, dammit!" The sofa wasn't discouraging them. Mattie was coming around it from one side, Sanvi from the other. Arthur looked like he was planning on jumping straight over. I backed against the wall, wondering if I could jump over him.

I had to talk fast. "A detective called me. They've got a serial killer- mauling deaths. At first they thought it was an animal, a feral dog or something. But now they think it's one of us. They asked me for help. They… they took me to a crime scene." My breathing came fast. Talking about it, I remembered the scene, what it looked like, the way it smelled. The memory was doing something to me, waking that other part of me. My skin was hot; I rubbed my face. "I saw the body. I smelled it… I know… they're right. It's a werewolf, but I didn't recognize him. There's- it's a rogue, in our… in your territory."

Pressed against the wall, I slid to the floor, holding my face in my hands. I couldn't talk anymore. I remembered the smell, and it was making me sick. Wolf remembered, and it woke him up. Made him hungry. I held on to the feeling of my limbs, my human limbs, and the shape of my body. This was _really_ not the time to get taken over by the Change.

Then Mattie was kneeling beside me, putting his arms around me, lending me his strength. "Keep it together," he whispered into my hair. "That's it." I hugged him as hard as I could. I settled down somehow, until I was calm enough to breathe normally, and I didn't feel like I was going to burst my skin anymore.

Mattie let me pull away from him. I huddled miserably on the floor. Arthur looked like he was going to march over to me. Sanvi held him back, touching his arm. She stared at me, like she was seeing me for the first time. Like she saw something in me that she hadn't seen before.

"Why did you agree to talk to them?" she asked.

"Don't you think it would have looked a little suspicious if I'd told them to, I dunno, fuck off?"

"What could they have done about it if you had?"

"I couldn't do that. I've got a reputation-"

"_That's_ your problem," Arthur cut in.

I ran a hand over my hair, which was starting to spike and go in all sorts of ways, and in need of a wash. This wasn't getting anywhere. How did I word this without seeming like I was questioning them, or ordering them around? "The pack should take care of this, shouldn't it?"

Arthur glared. "If there was a rogue in town, don't you think I'd know about it?"

"I don't know. Maybe he's got a good hiding place. I mean, if you knew about him, he wouldn't be a rogue."

Sanvi blocked my exit around that end of the sofa. "You told them it was a werewolf that did this? You told them that was what you smelled?" Her tone was tight, with a hint of concern.

"Yeah."

Arthur's shoulders bunched, like hackles rising. "You should have lied. You should have told them you didn't know what it was." Easy for him to say. I didn't lie well. Especially to cops.

"They have tests for that kind of thing now, you know. They would have found out eventually. I'm lucky they're not assuming that I did it."

"You're an easy target," Arthur said, turning on me. "How many times do I have to tell you to quit the show?"

"Two hundred markets," I countered, raising an eyebrow. I could almost see him working out the math of how much money that was.

Mattie said to Arthur, "If there's a rogue in town killing people, the cops can't handle it. We have to. If we don't want them paying more attention to us, we have to make the problem go away." Thank god for Mattie. That's exactly what I'd been _trying_ to say! I owed _him_ a steak dinner and pancakes.

I said, "This detective knows just enough to identify the problem, but not enough to do anything about it. Mattie's right."

Arthur paced back and forth, back and forth, like he was caged. His jaw was tight. "Do you know anything else about this rogue besides how he smells?"

"No," I said.

Mattie said, "We could go looking. Find out where these deaths have happened. If he's marking a territory, we'll find him. I could do it on my own if you want-"

"There can't be a rogue. Not with what all we do to maintain our territory," Sanvi stepped in, voice tight. Of course she would side with Arthur. She almost had to. Alpha male and female fights were extremely few and far between, but weren't unheard of. Whenever they did occur, they were usually extremely serious. If they were serious enough, if the disagreement was severe enough, sometimes one alpha killed the other in order to replace them. I felt a bit bad for her, a part of me sympathized with what it was like to have to keep yourself in check constantly. Of course, she could easily turn the tables on Arthur. She was as fierce a fighter as he was. But the risk wasn't worth the reward. Not this time, at least.

"We have to do _something_," I said, slightly pleading. This disagreement was getting out of hand, really fast.

"Nobody's going to do anything until I say so," Arthur said.

"When is that going to be?" Mattie growled, crouching like he was getting ready to pounce.

Arthur glared. "When I say so."

"And in the meantime, he kills again."

Glaring down at him, Arthur stepped close to Mattie. His fists tightened. "Are you challenging me?"

For a minute I really thought it was going to happen, right then and there. It wouldn't take much for an argument between an alpha male and his second to degenerate into an all-out fight. That was part of why Mattie sided with Arthur most of the time. The least little dissension could be misinterpreted.

When Mattie didn't back down, but met Arthur's gaze without flinching, I thought they would fight. Then, Mattie slumped, his back bowing and his head drooping.

"No," he said.

Arthur tipped his chin up with the victory. "Then it's settled. We wait. This is my pack, my territory. I'll take care of it." He grabbed my shirt and hauled me to my feet.

"And you will _not_ talk to the police again."

"Yeah, just wait until they come knocking on _your_ door." I bit my lip. That came out more sarcastic than I'd intended. Dammit. Mattie was willing to back off, but I just couldn't keep my mouth from running, could I? What the _hell_?

Arthur pursed his lips. "I think we need to have a little talk." Oh, shit. This was when he would put me in my place. His hand shifted to grip the back of my neck and he pushed me ahead of him, toward the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

Sanvi stepped in front of him, stopping him. "Let me talk to him." She sounded… almost concerned. Maybe a little pleading. I chanced a glance in her direction. Her eyes had gone slightly wide. In that brief glimpse, I saw it. She looked like she knew something. Like she knew if she let this happen, that something was _going_ to happen. She didn't know what that something was, but it was going to happen and nothing would be the same. She sensed it, and I could sense she sensed it from the way she looked. She might have looked a bit… frightened, though that might have been a trick of the light, for the very slight moment that I actually saw it. It was part of her job to keep this pack together as much as it was Arthur's and all this arguing and challenging must have been getting to her.

Arthur stared at her like she'd turned green. Sanvi had never had one of these "little talks" with me. She'd always left it to Arthur. She'd never offered like this before. Even knowing that our "talks" often ended up with him screwing me, she left him to it. It was part of being with the pack, of being wolf. Maybe she'd finally had enough? I honestly couldn't guess. There was something in the air, hanging over us. Suddenly, Arthur and Sanvi were the ones trading glares. A good old-fashioned staring contest. What would happen if they got into a knock-down, drag-out fight? That wasn't supposed to happen, at least, not over me? What was it about this that was getting Sanvi so defensive, so worked up? I understood with Mattie a bit more, it was hardly a new thing for them to have a scare once and awhile where I thought they might fight. But that never happened with Sanvi. Ever.

"Not today," Arthur said, and marched past her, pulling me along with him. I scrambled to keep up, dizzy with fear and the irony that at that moment, I'd more preferred to talk with Sanvi than to Arthur. My Wolf would be clamoring for a chance to get on Arthur's good side, but right now I just felt oddly… numb. I'd never felt this way before, with Wolf so on edge before being dressed down by Arthur. I didn't know what to think or feel because of it.

When we got to the bedroom at the end of the hall, he pulled me inside and closed the door. He trapped me, hands spread on the wall on either side of my head, his usual stance. He glared at me for what seemed like a long time. My heart raced; I just kept my head lowered, waiting, feeling unsure.

Then he went for my neck.

I might have thought he was a vampire, if I didn't know better. He nuzzled my hairline, and his mouth opened over my skin, kissing me. I tipped my head back, giving him access. His tongue licked, he caught my earlobe in his teeth, releasing a hot breath against my cheek. He used the full length of his body to press me to the wall. I could feel him, aroused like he'd been let out of a monastery and onto a nude beach.

Despite my confusion, I felt myself melting in his arms. I clung to him, not wanting to lose contact with a single inch of him. There was more than one way to win submission from an underling.

"You're not angry?" I murmured, genuinely confused.

"I'm reminding you of your place." Arthur's toy. I'd almost forgotten. I moaned a little, both turned on and frustrated that he was completely avoiding the issue. Did he really think that this was all it took to make me drop everything?

His hands kneaded my back, working through my shirt, slipping under and digging into my bare skin. I arched my back, leaning into him.

"I can't go back to what I was." I gripped his hair in my fists, holding his head to me while he traced my throat with his tongue.

"I know," he said, his voice low. "You've gotten strong. You could move up."

Inside, I froze. Arthur didn't notice. His hands were working their way to my front, washing over my stomach and chest, moving to my nipples. I gasped a breath and tried to think straight. "Move up?" Was this… really for real?

"You could challenged Sanvi. You could take her place." Then it was suddenly like he was necking and groping a different person. I was still clinging to him, but I gazed over his shoulder and my mind was detached. Suddenly professional. What the hell. What. The. Hell. I was _not_ going to be _used_ like this.

"You're not getting along with Sanvi, are you?" He went still. His hands stopped groping in favor of simple holding, and he pressed his face to my shoulder. He didn't say anything. He just held me.

I smirked a little. It was such a revelation, the idea that Arthur was having relationship problems. Idly, I scratched his hair until he let me go. He moved to the nightstand, opened a drawer, and took out a business-sized envelope. He handed it to me, only then raising his gaze to mine. Inside, I found photos. Blurry photos taken on a full moon night, people and wolves running together. One of them was me. These were copies of the photos Gilbert had given me. The ones Francis had used to hire Ivan.

"You?" My voice was tight with hurt. Whoever had given these photos to Francis had probably also put up funds to pay Ivan. Whoever had done that wanted me dead, but wanted to keep their hands, and maybe their teeth and claws, spotless. If it had been Arthur, it had probably been the money I'd been giving him that had gone to pay Ivan. That was too terrible to think about.

"Sanvi," he said. He stood close to me, speaking low, but sex was gone from his manner. "She said she gave them to Francis because she was jealous of you."

"Jealous, of _me_?" She was Sanvi. She was beautiful and strong. She had a strength of character that I envied. She was a leader, and in some ways, a mentor to me. More of a mentor than Arthur had ever been.

"Of the success of the show. The attention. The attention from me." He looked away at that, probably the most human gesture that I'd ever seen Arthur make. Like he was admitting that he'd been using pack dynamics as an excuse to sleep around. Like for once he realized how odd it was, this in-between world we inhabited.

"You know what that means?" I said, anger starting to surge up from deep within me. "She sold me down the river. She practically gave me to Francis on a silver plat-" And suddenly it occurred to me that maybe Arthur told me it was Sanvi so that I'd get angry enough at her to challenge her. That he was manipulating both of us, so he could get her out of the way without getting his own paws dirty. This was assuming I'd actually win if I challenged her. I didn't want to think about that. I couldn't think about fighting _Sanvi_. She was too good. Too good for Arthur and too good to ever do something as underhanded as this. I lifted my gaze to Arthur to find him still staring at me. But his eyes were steeled, he was tense. I'm sure he understood the conclusion that I'd come to. All of this anger was suddenly within me, and my gaze fully met his, like they were magnets. I couldn't look away if I tried.

"How dare you. How _dare_ you try and manipulate me like this. That you think that you can just pull some cheap trick like this and make me fight… fight _Sanvi_. To just replace her on the drop of a hat? You… you sent a werewolf _hunter_ after me! What were you thinking?" Arthur's eyes wavered gold dangerously as I held his gaze. He must have been fighting hard to keep it down.

"I'd originally only decided to do it as a warning. You were… surprisingly persistent, and I thought it would scare you off. That's why I put in the contract that you had to be on air. I wanted to know just how serious you were, just what you were willing to risk for something that was changing you so much. I was… surprised and a bit… pleased to see how well you'd actually handled it. And in the end you still came to me, still came back. I started to think about how strong you were becoming. I wanted that, and I still do." He was putting the full force of his gaze on me. God dammit he went _too far_! I couldn't just let this go. I couldn't just walk away from this. This was it, the moment where I had to choose. I couldn't just toe the line like I'd done before. I had to _choose_. To stay with the pack, under Arthur, or leave completely. The anger was taking over me so quickly that I couldn't reign it in anymore. Wolf wanted a piece of him… and so did I. I growled low and loud in my throat.

"I can't do this anymore. Something's gotta give Arthur, and it isn't going to be me. I'm not quitting. And if quitting is what you want so bad, then so be it. I'm leaving." God, full moon was _tomorrow_. What the hell was I going to do? But I was too far gone to care about anything other than the angry gold eyes staring right back at me. The rest could wait, I had a bone to pick right now.

"You won't. You're too weak to be out on your own. What do you think you're going to do tomorrow night, hm? You can't make it without me," he growled straight back at me. I could feel Wolf rising, his fur pushing against my skin, claws tearing at my belly, ready to leap out. It was so hard to keep him in, and part of me didn't want to.

"It's a hell of a lot better than staying here. I'll find a way. I can manage on my own. I'll do it. But I'm not staying here." I started to back away, and Arthur's eyes flashed. I knew in that moment, I wasn't going to be able to escape here without fighting him. He was either going to beat the shit out of me to prove his point, or somehow I was going to buck up and get him to back off.

He lunged for me, and I could see his hands morphing, already halfway into claws. I ducked underneath him, letting him topple over me, crashing into the wall and floor. I moved quickly, wrenching the door open and pounding my way out of the house. There was no way we could have any sort of decent fight in such a small space. Mattie sprang up from the couch, instantly concerned. I was sure he could smell the Wolf on me, so close to my skin, hear my heartbeat, frantic with adrenaline and rage. Sanvi was in the kitchen, much in the same position she was in when Mattie and I had first arrived here. But I couldn't stop to talk. I made it to the front door and out in the yard.

I whipped around hard, muscles tensed and already into a half crouched position. I briefly thought about Changing, but Arthur was already through the door before I could entertain the thought. It would take too much time and would leave me way too vulnerable to consider at this point. But maybe… maybe I could just let go a little, give Wolf just enough to help fight without giving my whole consciousness. Somehow we could work together.

Wolf had already taken my eyes, rendering my glasses useless, so I threw them off quickly. Arthur and I were locked in a dead stare, a stalemate of will. We started to circle each other in a true show animalistic fighting instinct. There was no escaping this now. I either had to win, and be able to walk away, or lose and submit. Because losing meant Arthur was right. And there was never a time I wanted to win, for Arthur to be wrong, more than I wanted it now.

I feinted a lunge at him, and he swung out powerfully. I grabbed his arm mid-swing and used his own momentum to slam him to the ground. The impact winded him, but as I pounced down to pin him he lurched out his hands to grab my throat hard. I coughed as my forward movement caused me to jerk my throat painfully against his fingers. He quickly reversed our positions, pinning me by keeping his hands at my throat. I lashed out with clawed hands, ripping at his face and arms, but his grip didn't waver. I was starting to see spots in my vision.

Something in me snapped. Wolf took over my body completely, but didn't Change, knowing it was too dangerous. He ripped his claws at Arthur's exposed throat, slashing deep, and Arthur sprung back quickly to avoid anything serious.

_Painful. So painful. Wolf finds it hard to breathe. Leader is angry. But so is Wolf. Leader hurts Alfred. Leader hurts Wolf. Wolf no longer feels the instinct to cower, no longer feels the craving of Leader's love. Leader bleeds like any other animal. He is no longer a god. Wolf does not give Leader time to recover from the strike to his throat. Wolf lunges with all of his might at him, digging one clawed hand in his stomach and side, and the other at his throat, scrapping against a hand that was raised up near it. Wolf pins with all of his strength. Wolf smells the sweat and blood. It excites him. Wolf smells the inklings of fear. It gives Wolf courage. Wolf lunges his head forward, biting into Leader's shoulder as hard as he can. Loud whines come from Leader, but Wolf doesn't let go. Leader's claws slash and tear, but Wolf doesn't feel it. The flow of blood is hot in Wolf's mouth, and it tastes sweet. Like victory. Leader stops struggling, whining. Wolf growls low in his throat. A threat. "Don't come for me," it says, "Leave me alone." Leader goes still, submitting. Wolf keeps him down for awhile, until it is clear that Wolf is serious about his threat, before letting Leader go and backing away from him. Wolf watches Leader as he whimpers, belly and red throat exposed. Wolf growls, but does nothing. There is no prize to take here. Only freedom. Wolf smells the familiar scents of Mattie and his ears perk. Wolf understands that it's Alfred's turn now. Wolf understands. Wolf lets Alfred come back._

My consciousness surfaced again, and like a drowning man breaking the ocean's surface, I gasp for breath. Gold eyes bleed to blue. Mattie is near me, standing close behind me. Arthur has backed away from me, eyes downcast. He scrambles up from the ground and retreats inside, kicking up dirt and dust. It's an oddly satisfying sight. Sanvi is outside, staring at me. I breathe in deeply before regarding her.

"You've grown so, so much," she whispers to me. She's serene, with just a hint of sadness deep under. "Arthur and I, we've never been on the best of terms to begin with. We always have one conflict or another going on. We were just better at hiding it than others. I don't know what it would have accomplished by having you replace me but… I can say for certain he would never have been able to keep you down for long. This fight has proven it." I nodded, sighing.

"I don't regret it, any of this. I would have had to branch out, one way or another," I told her. Her eyes are accepting.

"You won't be able to come back after this. Arthur will have to kill you if you do. You know his pride, he is too hurt now. Maybe… in the future. A long time from now." She says it as if she hopes I'll visit for holiday or something. Maybe she felt a bit like a mother to me, with how much she had to baby and look after me. I don't blame her for it. She's been good to me.

"I just wish that he didn't have to go and… do all of this. But I guess, in the end, it did save us some heartache. And doing this in front of the pack. I don't want to be an alpha. I just… I just want to do what I want." Sanvi looked back, towards the house wistfully.

"You'll have to leave this area eventually. You can't stay in his territory, you know. But I'll be able to hold him off until you're ready. Just… make it as quick as you can." She turned and smiled at me, and the look was so human… she was so human in that moment that it made me want to cry. All this that she was doing for me, she was really suppressing a lot of instinct to do it. And there was no amount of gratitude I could show that would be enough for her. I leaned in close to her, and god bless, we actually hugged. It was a comforting gesture, and it filled me with hope.

After we broke apart I turned. Mattie was still there, standing and waiting for me. I regarded him with a bit of caution.

"So, what now?" he asks me nonchalantly, as if there wasn't ever any doubt. I was so relieved. I smiled at him widely.

"I guess… we go home. And find out what to do for tomorrow night," I answered. He nods to me, holding out my glasses to me. When did he find them? I really hope I don't have to get a new pair. Though, I guess now that I'm not paying Arthur anymore, maybe I could afford them.

"You don't have to come straight home with me, you know," I spoke to him, "You don't have to…" I couldn't finish the sentence. I really didn't want to. Mattie… I'd give anything to have him at my side, through this, but only if he wanted. I couldn't bear to think if he was just following me out of some sense of… instinct to follow the person that had dominated the alpha. He was worth more than that, he was better than that.

"Don't say it. It's not about that, and you know it. You're my brother," He spoke with such confidence, that I could almost believe we really were brothers. But we were, in everything but blood, and it felt so good to hear him say it. I would never be able to doubt it, never again. He dropped me back off at my place, but reassured me that he'd be back, and for all the strength I had, and the victories I'd won today, it was still good to know that I had someone to rely on. Mattie had my back, and I had his. And that wasn't going to change.

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_Were you shocked? Did you expect it? WERE YOU THRILLED? I hope you enjoyed the latest chapter regardless. Lots of irons in the fire right now, hehe. _

_I hope you guys are as excited as I am about all the new developments and where the story is going because I sure am. Thanks for all the follows, favs, and reviews! They're all greatly appreciated, each and every one! _

_I feel kinda bad the story was later than usual (but at least it's still on Friday right?) Lots of family stuff going on for Fourth of July, and I didn't really have stable internet for most of the day. But anyways, enough excuses, SEE YOU NEXT TIME!_


	5. Act I Part V

_Ok guys! You know what day it is. Time for the next update! And it's all right here, my precious babies, don't you worry. I greatly and truly appreciate all the reviews, favorites, and follows! So thank you to all who do that. But anyways, let's get on with the story!_

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_Part Five_

I never watched the local TV news, so I didn't have to work too hard to avoid watching it tonight, to see if Angela Bryant had filmed my better side or not. But at 6:15 pm exactly, Eliza called.

"Al. Did you know you're on the news?" Morbidly, I sort of hoped there'd been a plane crash or something that would bump a prostitute's murder off the news entirely. I'd gone through enough shit today.

"I had a feeling," I said tiredly.

"What's up with that?"

"Didn't the TV say anything?"

"They just said, and I quote, 'Well-known radio personality Alfred Jones is involved with the investigation.' That doesn't sound too great. You didn't- I mean, you're not _really_ involved, are you?"

"Geez, Eliza, you really think I could do something like that?"

"I know _you_ couldn't. But there's the whole werewolf thing…"

I sighed. I couldn't win. "I'm an unofficial consultant. That's it."

"So there _are_ werewolves involved."

"I don't want to talk about it."

She grumbled like she wanted to keep arguing. Then she said, "You couldn't have worked in a little free publicity for the show?"

"Good-bye, Eliza." I hung up. The phone blinked at me that there was a message waiting. Someone had called while I was talking to Eliza. I checked.

It was Mom. "Hi, Alfie, this is Mom. We just saw you on the news, and I wanted to make sure everything is okay. Do you need a lawyer? We have a friend who's a lawyer, so please call-"

Again, I hung up.

Yet again, full moon night. My thirty-seventh. How many more would there be? For the rest of my life, full moon nights were planned and predetermined. How much longer could I keep this up? Some nights, the light of it, the wind in the trees, the rush of my blood made me shout with joy, a howl lurking at the back of my throat.

Some nights, I thought surely this time my body would burst and break, my skin split apart and not be able to come back together again.

I waited outside my apartment fitfully. I knew Mattie would show. I never doubted him for a second. I was just nervous, antsy. Wolf was pacing inside my brain. What were we going to do? The question raced through my mind again and again. Mattie pulled up in his truck, like a guardian angel to chase my troubled thoughts away. He jerked his head a little as way of saying, "Get in." I complied readily, sliding into the passenger's seat with practiced ease. The drive back to his house felt sluggish, but it was better to do this than have to stay cramped inside my apartment, both Mattie's and my Wolf curled up and on the futon and caged in there. Mattie's house was pretty far from Arthur and Sanvi's and there was a slim chance we would ever run into any of the pack in the woods near his place.

When we arrived, Mattie and I exited the truck solemnly. Both of us knew the weight of this night. It would probably be the last full moon we would spend here in these woods. We'd have to leave this area sometime soon, or have the pack run us out. And that would be far from pleasant. We trudged our way out back, our eyes meeting briefly, glinting in the light of the moon. We stripped fast, not really caring where our clothes went. After all, they'd still be there when we got back. My body was fire. My skin was burning away, my breath coming in quiet sobs. My vision went white and clear. 'Just take it,' I thought, 'Take my body. I don't want it tonight.'

I let Wolf rip out of me with a howl.

_Like shaking off dead fur, shedding out last year's coat, Wolf convulses, then runs free. Mattie is there, bumping against Wolf playfully. It is just the two of them tonight. Wolf can't find it in him to be disappointed. Tonight, Wolf is free. And Wolf will hunt and take what he pleases. Mattie yips playfully, and they race each other through the underbrush. The moon and the scent of the trees and the wildness all around the two of them is enough to soothe the hurts that are not physical. That other part of him, Alfred, knows heartbreak for what it is. But Wolf has Mattie and freedom. All is well. They catch their own prey, a friendly competition. They eat their fill, they don't worry about having to share, or waiting their turn. And when they start feeling lonely, they tussle and play wrestle. They run and run until everything else is far behind, and then they lope back to the den that smells of Mattie to curl up and sleep away their doubts. Wolf, for once, does not mind the thought that the dawn will bring his captivity. He knows Alfred will keep him close, and the next full moon will bring him more of the same from tonight, Mattie by their side. Alfred needs Wolf. And Wolf needs Alfred. And the fleeting thought doesn't bring the pain and anger it once had. Only peace._

By the time I shifted back to human the next morning, all of the stress I'd felt before had melted, and my body was relaxed. I felt Mattie curled up against me, his head on my shoulder, an arm flopped over my side. One of my arms was curled around his neck, the other wedged between our figures. I didn't know how long I'd lay there, taking in the scents of the forest and the scent of cut wood coming from Mattie's workshop, which we'd curled up near the mouth of, and the comforting scent of Mattie himself, so close to me. I listened as Mattie's even, slow breathing picked up as he awakened, and he breathed deep through his nose, taking in the same scents I had, taking comfort in finding my scent like I had found his, and the warmth of my body here with him.

We had a charming, pancake and syrup filled breakfast, before Mattie took me back to my apartment. He told me of all the different things he'd have to straighten out with his contractors and all the thing's he'd need to pack up before he'd be ready to leave. I told him I didn't mind, that I'd be ready whenever he was. After all, it wasn't like I didn't need time to prepare for this either.

Nights passed.

I didn't know where to find Gilbert. He'd always came to me. I knew where I might start looking, and if he wasn't there I could probably find someone who did know where he was. Assuming I didn't get beaten up first. It was enough that I'd been able to get Mattie to let me come alone.

The nightclub Psalm 23 was a favorite vampire hunting ground. Despite what a lot of the legends said, vampires didn't have to kill their prey when they fed. They usually didn't, because littering the surroundings with bodies attracted too much attention. They could seduce some young thing with nice fresh blood, drink enough to sustain them, but not enough to kill, let the victim go, and the poor kid might not have any idea what happened. Supernatural Rohypnol. The process didn't turn the victim into a vampire.

In the right subculture, a vampire could find willing enough volunteers to play blue-plate special. Psalm 23 was dark, stylish, played edgy music, and Francis was a silent partner. I had to dress up; they'd have turned me away at the door if I'd shown up in jeans. I wore black slacks and a black vest over a white dress shirt. Understated. I didn't want to draw attention to myself.

Outside, I could hear the music, something retro and easy to slink to. The doorman let me in without a problem, but I hadn't gotten three feet inside when an incredibly svelte woman with skin so pale her diamond pendent looked colorful fell into step behind me. I stopped. So did she, close enough that her breath brushed my neck when she spoke.

"I know you," she said, "You're not welcome here."

"Then you should have stopped me at the door," I said without turning around. "I already paid my cover."

"You're here without invitation. You're trespassing." I stopped myself before I said something stupid. Like, fuck territory. Any territory marking that was done was done by Arthur. And I didn't run with him anymore. But I didn't want to go as far as to say that.

I turned. "Look, I'm not interested in facing off with anybody. I need to find Gilbert; is he here?"

Her gaze narrowed; her lips parted, showing the tips of her fangs. "I might ask for an additional cover charge from you." She ran her tongue along her teeth, between the fangs.

"You won't get it." Werewolf blood was apparently some kind of delicacy among vampires. Like thirty-year old scotch or something.

"You're in our territory now. If you want to stay, you will follow our rules."

I backed away, bracing to run. I didn't want to fight. One werewolf, I could handle. One vampire? Maybe. A whole Family coming down on my ass? Hell no. Maybe it had been a mistake coming here. Mattie's 'I told you so' was already ringing in my head. Maybe it would have been better if he were here. It seemed like I kept doing a lot of falling on my ass before any results ever happened. And the results I got were sketch as fuck.

I didn't want to cause trouble, I just had some information to deliver was all. Geez.

Someone stepped in beside me, interposing himself between me and the woman. It was Gilbert. "Alice, Mr. Jones is my guest this evening and is under my protection."

She stepped back from him, gapping like a fish. "When Francis finds out he was here-"

"I'll tell him myself and take full responsibility for the consequences. I'll make sure he doesn't cause trouble. Like start a fight with an aggressive hostess." He touched my arm and gestured me to a quiet section of the bar. The woman, Alice, stalked off with a huff. I let out a breath I'd been holding.

"Thanks for the save," I said as we took seats.

"You're welcome," he said with a cocky smile, "Drink?"

Tequila, straight up? "Club soda. Thanks."

"The question remains- what are you doing here? It's not exactly safe for you."

"I wanted to let you know, I got a tip that Elijah Smith is coming back to this area in a week or so, probably out toward Limon. I found that on the Web, so take it with a grain of salt. But it's the best I've got right now."

"It's more than I have. Thanks."

"I'll tell you when I get more. Maybe you could leave me a phone number for next time?"

He had the gall to laugh.

"I take it you don't like phones," I said.

"Why don't I come see you at your office in a week instead?"

"Damn inconvenient," I muttered. It would have been nice to have someone agree with my suggestion for once.

He looked thoughtfully at me. "No one gets that put out over not getting a phone number. Though, I guess I'm not surprised when it is _me_ we're talking about." He gave me a wink. I half-heartedly smiled in return. A seething pit of frustrated intentions, that was me. I frowned.

"Could you give me some advice?"

He blinked, surprised. "Well. I thought _you_ were the one who had all the answers."

I ignored that, glancing back at where the monochrome Alice had gone to harass someone else. "You must be in pretty tight with Francis, to toss his name around like that."

"Don't tell anyone, but I'm nearly as old as he is. Nearly as powerful. The only difference is I don't want to be Master of a Family. I don't want that kind of… responsibility, if you know what I mean. He knows this, knows I'm not a rival. We have an understanding about things." Sounds pretty familiar, except Arthur and I couldn't agree, and so we split. Violently.

"Ah. Why are you even here at all? Why even follow him?" This was touching on what I'd wanted to talk to him about. He'd been around for a long time- he'd just admitted as much. He'd had answers I didn't.

He sat back, smiling like he knew what I was _really_ asking and why I was asking it. "Being part of a Family has its advantages. Finding sustenance is easier. There's protection. A guarded place to sleep out the days. These things are harder to find alone."

I propped an elbow on the bar. Those were all the things I'd needed Arthur for. So, now that I'd struck out, what was I supposed to do now? But I had Mattie with me too. That counted for something. It counted for a lot.

Gilbert continued. "I spent about fifty years on my own, around the end of the nineteenth century. I… angered a few dangerous elements, so I set up a place in one of the old Nevada boomtowns during the Comstock Lode silver rush. You wouldn't believe how well mining operations in a place like Virginia City kept away certain kind of riffraff."

I grinned, drawn into the story in spite of myself. "You pissed off a pack of werewolves."

"You didn't come here to hear stories. You mentioned advice. Though this seems a strange place to find it."

"I'm running out of friends."

"Nonsense. You have half a million listeners who adore you."

I shot him a glare. "Someone asked me recently who I went to when I needed advice. And I couldn't answer. I didn't know."

"You still haven't told me what you needed advice about."

I asked him because he was old and presumably had experience. And, ironically, he'd never given me a reason to be afraid of him.

"I don't understand why it had to be this way. I don't know why Arthur was acting the way he was, the way he is. I don't know why I couldn't make him understand the why I feel the way I do, make him understand me. I wish- things have just gone so… different. I guess I didn't know what I was expecting. But not this. At least not so soon." There, I thought I'd gotten it all out.

"Hmm, seems to me you aren't looking for advice. You're looking for affirmation. That you've done all you could and you've made the right choice. It's a bit late for that, though, don't you think?"

God, he made it sound so obvious. If someone had called in with this problem, I'd have been able to rattle off that answer. I rubbed my face. I felt like I was five years old again. _See, Daddy, look at the pretty picture I made_, and what is that kid supposed to do when Daddy tears it to shreds? I didn't want to think about Arthur as a father figure. More like… the tyrant in his harem. Or something.

Gilbert turned a wry grin. "It's growing pains. You would have gone through this later, if you hadn't now. I've seen it before. It happens in a werewolf pack any time a formerly submissive member starts to assert themselves. Starts to become too tall for the barriers that used to seem so far above them. You're coming into your own, now, and Arthur wouldn't know what to do with you or how to handle it. That much, I guess, is obvious if he pushed you so far as to break away this early."

"He's super pissed at me now. It's just… so much to take in, so much change in such a short time."

He leaned back. "Well, don't worry. I'm sure you'll get used to it quickly. You're not the type to stay down for long. Maybe you'll grow out of your shell a bit more, hm? Ever been in bed with a vampire before?"

Right. Time to change the subject. I wanted to hear about the silver rush and Virginia City during the frontier days. I couldn't picture Gilbert in a cowboy hat.

"So, you want to be a guest on the show and tell some stories about the Old West?"

He smirked, though I could tell he was slightly put off. "Francis would kill me."

The trouble with this crowd was, you didn't know when that was a joke.

About a week later I came home from work and found Ivan leaning against the outside wall of my apartment building, just kind of standing there. It was well after dark. He had his arms crossed, face half buried in his scarf and stood at the edge of the glow cast by the light over the door, looking like a giant stalker. I stared for a good minute before I could say anything.

"You know where I live."

"Wasn't hard to find out," he said. He was lucky it was me and not Mattie that'd found him.

"Am I going to have to move now?" Like I wasn't already planning that.

He shrugged, shifting from one foot to the other. "The place is kind of a dump. I thought you'd be making better money than this."

He didn't have to know about Arthur's payoff. "Maybe I like it here. What do you want?"

My neck was tingling. I needed to get the hell out of here. But he wasn't armed tonight. At least not that I could see. Without all the guns he looked less like a hit man and more like a big cuddly grizzly bear.

"You remember that cop? O'Sullivan? She got in touch with me about those murders."

And just like that, the anxiety went away. The big picture took over. Being pissed off that someone was going behind my back took over. "Really? Because she told me she didn't trust you enough to talk to you about it."

"She seems to have the idea that you're too loyal to your 'kind' to be any help." I seethed. I didn't break off with my pack for this bullshit to happen.

"Just because I didn't name any names?"

"Do you have a name?" he asked as he tilted his head to the side.

"No! Geez, it's like thinking that because someone's- I dunno, an auto mechanic- that they know every other auto mechanic in town."

"Werewolves are a little less common than mechanics…" C'mon, give me a break here.

I changed the subject. "Why are you helping her? Last time I talked to her, she wanted to prosecute you for stalking and attempted murder," I said, crossing my arms.

"She offered to keep off my back if I helped catch this guy." He made a 'what else was I supposed to do?' shrug.

O'Sullivan knew how to be everyone's friend. "Convenient."

"I thought so, too." He paced a couple of steps toward me. "Listen... You have information about this killer that I can't get- the scent. _Is_ there something that you're not telling the cops?"

I huffed, a bit ticked off that no one seemed to believe a word I said anymore. "I didn't recognize the scent. It's not one of Arthur's pack. At least, I don't think it is." There was something that flashed over his face when I'd said "Arthur's pack" like he wanted to say something, but then thought better of it.

"Okay. I'm not the cops. I'm not territorial about information. We can get closer to catching this guy if we pool what we know." He put his hands up in a defensive gesture, likely to combat the slightly hostile tone my voice was starting to take.

"What do _you_ know?"

"How to kill werewolves." Oh haha. Very funny. I could see the edge of a smirk coming onto his face.

"Is that supposed to make me feel any better?"

"No." Gee, thanks.

Defeated, I let out a sigh. "What do you want me to do?"

"If you see this guy, give me a call. You go places I don't, meet people I can't . You have contacts."

"You don't agree with O'Sullivan? You don't think I'll protect him just because he's a werewolf?" Spite dripped off my voice.

"I think you'll do the right thing," Ivan said in a brief window of sincerity, "You have my number." He turned to walk away. The unexpected confidence sort of made me a little giddy.

"So, who owes who a favor now?"

He glanced over his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm keeping track." And I think that I spied a curl of a smile, a nice one, over the edge of his scarf. I followed him with my eyes as he rounded the corner. I heard a truck pull up and stop. Only a few seconds later did Mattie come into view.

"There was a real sketchy guy that just passed. Gave me a bit of an odd look. You okay?" He asked me. He'd gotten a bit more protective since we'd split, but I didn't fault him for it. I got into a lot of trouble. He'd made it more of a habit to stay at my apartment more often as well. We traded nights staying at his house or mine.

"Nah, just a contact regarding the rogue. Seeing as Arthur isn't going to do anything about it, I think we might have to." Mattie gave me a look.

"This isn't our territory anymore. We have to get out of here soon. Arthur isn't going to appreciate us sticking around. They do make territory rounds, you know. You really don't think they're not going to check by here and see if your scent isn't still fresh?" I sighed.

"I know, Mattie. But… I can't leave like this. Not with this rogue hanging around. He's going to cause trouble. Lots of it. He needs to be taken care of." Mattie gave me a short look, but I knew his morality was just as healthy as mine was. It didn't take him long to cave, especially when we had a staring contest.

"Fine. But you're the one who's going to have to haul all my woodcutting equipment if we have to make a mad dash outta here." Yay for the small victories.

Antonio leaned against the doorjamb between the sound booth and the studio. "Alfred? There's a live one on line three. Might be a crank, but she sounds like she's really in trouble. You want it?"

I could say no. This was my show after all. It would be a lot easier for everyone if I transferred her to a hotline. Too bad there wasn't a hotline for troubled vampires and werewolves.

I nodded, listening to my current caller's ornate commentary about miscegenation and purity of the species. Standard canned reactionary rhetoric.

"Uh-huh, thank you," I said. "Have you considered a career as a speechwriter for the Klan? Next caller, please."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" The woman was sobbing, her words unintelligible around the hysterics.

"Whoa, slow down there. Take a breath. Slow breaths. That's a girl. Michelle? Is this Michelle?"

She stopped hyperventilating somewhat, matching her breathing to my calm words. "Y-yes."

"Good. Michelle, can you tell me what's wrong?"

"They're after me. I'm hurt. They're coming after me. I need help." Her words came faster and faster. My heart sped up along with them. Her voice lisped, like she held her mouth to close to the phone.

"Wait a minute. Explain your situation. Who's after you?"

She swallowed, loud enough to carry over the line.

"Have you heard of Elijah Smith? The Church of the Pure Faith?"

I stood and started pacing. More than heard of him. I was almost ready to show up at his door and let him have at me just to learn something new. I so wanted to expose him for a charlatan. Right now, the church caravan was parked some sixty miles away from the studio.

"Yes, I've heard of them."

"I left. I mean- I want to leave. I'm trying to leave."

"Oh. I mean- oh." I, who made my living by my voice, was speechless. No one had ever left the Church of the Pure Faith. None of Smith's followers had ever been willing to talk about him. I had so many questions: What was she? Had she gone looking for a cure? Did it work? What was Smith like? This was the interview I'd been waiting for.

"Okay, Michelle. Let me make sure I'm clear on this. You are- what, vampire? Lycanthrope?"

"Vampire."

"Right. And you went to the Church of Pure Faith seeking a cure for vampirism. You met Elijah Smith. You- were you cured? Were you really cured?" What would I do if she said yes?

"I… I thought so. I mean, I thought I was. But not anymore."

"I'm confused."

"Yeah," she said, laughing weakly. "Me too."

Michelle sounded exhausted. How long had she been running? The night was half over. Did she have a safe place to spend the day? Why had she called _me_?

Witnesses. We were live on the air. Thousands of witnesses would hear her story. Smart. Now if only I could live up to her faith in me.

"Are you safe for the moment? Are you in a safe place or do you need to get out of there right now? Where are you?"

"I lost them, for now. I'm in a gas station; it's closed for the night. I'll be all right until dawn."

"Where, Michelle? I want to send you help if I have to."

"I don't think I want to say where. They might be listening. They might follow you here."

This was going to be tough. One step at a time, though. I covered my mouthpiece with a hand and called to Antonio. "Check caller ID, find out where she's calling from." Through the booth window I saw him nod. I went back to Michelle. "When you say they're after you, do you mean Smith? Do you mean his people? Do they want to hurt you?"

"Yes. Yes!"

"Huh. Some church. Why don't people leave him?"

"They… they can't, Alfred. It's complicated. We're not supposed to talk about it."

Antonio pressed a piece of paper against the booth window. 'Pay phone - Unknown', it read.

"Michelle? Walk me through the cure. You saw a poster announcing a church meeting. You showed up at the tent. How long ago was this?"

She was breathing more calmly, but her voice still sounded tight, hushed, like she was afraid of being overheard. "Four months."

"What happened when you got there?"

"I arrived just after dark. There was a group of tents, some RVs, campers and things. They were circled and roped off. There were guards. About eight of us gathered at the gate. There was a screening process. They patted us down for weapons, made sure none of us were reporters. Only the truly faithful ever get in to see Smith. And- I wanted to believe. I really wanted to believe. One of the people they searched, I think he was a werewolf- they found a microphone or something on him, and they threw him out."

They threw out a werewolf. That took some doing. "People who've tried to break into the Church have met up with considerable force. Who works on the security detail?"

"His followers- everyone who lives and works in that caravan is a believer."

"But they've gotta be tough. Whole werewolf packs have gone after him-"

"And they're going up against werewolves. And weretigers, and vampires- everything. It's fighting fire with fire, Alfred."

"So they're not really cured."

"Oh, but they are. I've never seen them shape-shift, not even during the full moon. The vampires- they walked in daylight!"

"But they retained their strength? They were still able to deal with a werewolf on equal terms?" Lose the weaknesses without losing the strengths of those conditions? Some might call it better than a cure.

"I suppose so."

Interesting. "Go on."

"I was brought inside the main tent. It looked like a church service, an old-fashioned revival, with the congregation gathered before a stage. A man on the stage called to me."

"This was Smith? What's he like?"

"He- he looks very normal." Of course. She probably wouldn't even be able to pick him out of a lineup. "I expected to be preached at, lectured with all the usual biblical quotes about witches and evildoers. I didn't care; I would have sat through anything if it meant being cured. But he didn't. He spoke about the will to change. He asked me if I wanted to changed, if I had the will to help him reach into my soul and retrieve my mortality, my life. Oh, yes, I said. His words were so powerful. Then he set his hands on my head.

"It was real, Alfred! Oh, it was real! He touched my face, and a light filled me. Every sunrise I'd missed filled me. And the hunger- it faded. I didn't want blood anymore. My whole body surged, like my own blood returned. My skin flushed. I was mortal again, alive and breathing, like Lazarus. I really was! He showed me a cross and I touched it- and nothing happened. I didn't burn. He made me believe I could walk in the sun."

When Michelle first started talking, I thought I'd gotten someone who'd been disillusioned, who'd be ready to expose Smith's secrets and tell me exactly why he was a fake. But Michelle didn't talk like a disillusioned ex-follower. She spoke like a believer who had lost her faith, or lost her belief in her own right to salvation.

I had to ask: "Could you, Michelle? Could you walk in the sun?"

"Yes," she said, her voice a whisper.

Goddamn it. A cure. I felt a tickle in my stomach, a piece of hope that felt a little like heartburn. A choice, an escape. I could have my old life back. If I wanted it.

There had to be a catch.

I kept my voice steady, attempting journalistic impartiality. "You stayed with him for four months. What did you do?"

"I traveled with the caravan. I appeared onstage and witnessed. I watched sunrises. Smith took care of me. He takes care of all of us."

"So you're cured. That's great. Why not leave? Why don't those who are cured ever go away and start a new life for themselves?"

"He's our leader. We're devoted to him. He saves us and we would die for him." She was so earnest, it made me wonder if I was being set up. But I was close to something. Questions, more questions.

"But you want to leave him now. Why?"

"It- it's so stifling. I could see the sun. But I couldn't leave him."

"Couldn't?"

"No- I couldn't. All I was, my new self, it was because of him. It was like… he made me."

Oh, my. "Sounds like a vampire Family. Devoted followers serving a Master who created them." For the matter it sounded like a werewolf pack, but I didn't want to go there.

"What?"

"I have a couple of questions for you, Michelle. Were you made a vampire against your will or were you turned voluntarily?"

"It… it wasn't against my will. I wanted it. It was 1936, Alfred. I was seventeen. I contracted polio. I was dead anyway, or horribly crippled at best, do you understand? My Master offered me an escape. A cure. He said I was too charming to waste."

I developed a mental picture of her. She'd look young, painfully innocent, even, with the clean looks and aura of allure that most vampires cultivated.

"When did you decide you didn't want to be a vampire anymore? What made you seek out Elijah Smith?"

"I had no freedom. Everything revolved around the Master. I couldn't do anything without him. What kind of life is that?"

"Unlife?" Ooh, remember the _inside_ voice. Her story sounded so painfully familiar.

"I had to get away." If I were going to do the pop-psychology bit on Michelle, I'd tell her she had a problem with commitment and accepting the consequences of her decisions. Always running away to look for a cure, and now she'd run to me.

"Tell me what happened."

"I was mortal now- I could do whatever I wanted, right? I could walk in broad daylight. I was assigned screening duty at the front gate two nights ago. I lost myself in the crowd and never went back. I found a hiding place, an old barn I think. In the morning, I walked past the open door, through the sunlight- and I burned. The hunger returned. He… he withdrew his cure, his blessing, his grace."

"The cure didn't work."

"It did! But I had lost my faith." Hmm… something seems very wrong here.

"You burned. How badly are you hurt, Michelle?"

"I… I only lost half my face."

I closed my eyes. That pretty picture of Michelle I had made disintegrated, skin bubbling, blackening, turning to ash until bone could be seen underneath. She ducked into shade, and because she was still a vampire, immortal, she survived.

"Michelle, one of the theories about Smith says that he has some sort of psychic power. It isn't a cure, but it shields people from some of the side effects of their natures- vulnerability to sunlight and the need for blood in the case of vampires, the need to shape-shift in the case of lycanthropes. His followers must stay with him so he can maintain it. It's a kind of symbiotic relationship- he controls their violent natures and feeds off their power and attention. What do you think?"

"I don't know. I don't know anymore." She sniffed. Her voice was tight, and I understood now where her hushed lisp was coming from.

Antonio came into the studio. "Al, there's a call for you on line four."

Four was my emergency line. Only a couple of people had t he number. Arthur had it. I bet it was him, still trying to butt in, tell me to get my ass out of town or something.

"Can't it wait?"

"No. The guy threatened me pretty soundly." Antonio shrugged unapologetically. He'd let me mess with the threats from the supernatural world. One of these days he was going to quit this gig, and I wouldn't be able to blame him. I needed to get Elizaveta to give him a raise.

"Michelle, hang on for just a minute. I'm still with you, but I have to take a break." I put her on hold, punched the line, and made sure it wasn't set to broadcast. The last thing I needed was a drag out brawl with Arthur on the air. "What?"

"Hello, Alfred Franklin Jones," said an aristocratic male, distinctly French voice.

It wasn't Arthur. Oh, no. Only one other person besides my grandmother ever said my full name like that so casually. I'd met him only a couple of times in person, during territorial face-offs with Arthur and the pack. But I knew that voice. That voice made my bone marrow twinge.

"Ah, Francis. How the hell did you get this number?"

"I have ways." Oh, please. On the phone, behind the microphone, I had the power. I switched over to live.

"Hello, Francis. You're on the air!" Ah, it felt so good.

"Jones," he said tightly. "I wish to speak with you privately."

"You call me during the show, you talk to my listeners. That's the deal." Maybe if I was brazen enough, I'd forget that he'd tried to have me killed.

"I do not appreciated being treated like your rabble-"

"What do you want, Francis?"

He took a deep breath. "I want to talk to Michelle."

"Why?"

"She's one of mine."

Great. This was getting complicated. I covered the mike with my hand. "Toni, how does three-way calling work again?"

A few seconds later, I had Michelle back on the line. "Michelle? You still there?"

"Yes." Her voice was trembling. She swallowed.

"Okay… I have Francis on the other line-"

She groaned like I'd just staked her. "He'll kill me. He'll kill me for leaving him-"

"On the contrary, my dear. I want to take you home. You're hurt and need help. Tell me where you are."

Her breath hiccupped. She was crying. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"It's far too late for that," he said, sounding tired.

I couldn't believe what I was about to say. "Michelle, I think you should listen to him. I don't know what I can do for you. Francis can get you to a safe place."

"I don't believe him. I can't go back, I can never go back!" The words made my insides tight.

"Michelle, tell me where you are," Francis implored.

"Alfred?" Michelle said, her voice small.

"Francis- promise me. Promise you aren't going to hurt her?" I put on my best Wolf voice for this, growling and all. It was the least I could do for how helpless I felt I was.

"Jones, you're being harsh."

"_Promise_."

"Jones. Michelle is mine. She is part of me. If she is destroyed, part of me is destroyed as well. I have an interest in protecting her. I promise."

Drama, tension, excitement! What a great setup for a show! But at the moment I would have given my pelt to have the whiny goth chicks back.

"I'm going to break for station identification. When we return, I hope I'll have a wrap-up for you on our sudden special broadcast of 'Elijah Smith: Exposed.' " I switched the phone lines off the air and said, "All right, Michelle. It's up to you."

"Okay. Okay. Francis, come get me. I'm at the Speedy Mart on Seventy-Fifth." Francis's line clicked off.

"You okay, Michelle?" I asked.

"Yeah. Yes. I'm all right." She had stopped crying and seemed almost calm. The decision had been made. She could stop running, for a little while at least.

I had one more call to make. The cavalry, so to speak, just in case. I should have called the police. O'Sullivan- she'd help Michelle. Yeah, she'd take Michelle to the hospital. And they wouldn't know what to do with her. They wouldn't understand, and it would take too long to explain. A normal person would have called the police. But I pulled a scrap of paper out of my contact book, got an outside line, and dialed. After six rings, I almost hung up. Then, "**Yes?**" Mobile phone static under-laid the voice.

"Ivan? Have you been listening to the show tonight?"

"Jones? Why would I be listening to your show?" Oh yeah. He could pretend. But I knew the truth. He'd listened once, it could happen again.

"One of my callers is in trouble. Francis says he'll help her, but I don't trust him. I want to make sure she doesn't get caught in a cross fire. Can you go help? Make sure nobody dies and stuff?"

"Francis? Francis is helping? She's a vampire, isn't she." It might have been a question, but he didn't make it sound like one.

"Uh, yeah, actually."

A long, deep sigh of great patience. "You're out of your mind."

"Yup. Look, chances are Francis will get to Michelle first and the Church people won't even find her. But if the Church people show up, they'll have some pretty hard hitting supernaturals with them. You might get to shoot one!" I said the last like a parent would to their kid about how fun eating their veggies was.

"Whoa, slow down. Church?"

"Church of Pure Faith?"

"Hm. A buddy of mine was hired to go in there and never got through. Been wanting to get a look at them."

"Oh! Wow! Here's your chance, then!" I said brightly.

"Right. I'll check it out, but no promises."

"Good enough. Thanks, Ivan." I gave him the address. He grunted something resembling a sign-off.

Antonio was signaling through the window. Time up. On-air light, go! Okay. "We're back to _The Midnight Hour_. Michelle?"

"Alfred! A car just pulled up. It's not Francis; I think it's people from the church. They'll kill me, Alfred. We're not supposed to leave; They'll take me back and then- I've told you everything and now everybody knows-"

"Okay, Michelle. Stay down. Help is on the way."

Antonio leaned in and didn't bother to muffle his voice for the mike this time. His expression was taunt and anxious. He actually looked harried. "Line four again."

Maybe it was Francis checking in. Maybe I could warn him. He was Michelle's only chance to get out of there. "Yeah?"

"Al, do you need help?" said a gruff, but light voice. Mattie. I felt kinda bad for making him so worried and worked up like this.

"Mattie please. Now is not the time. Everything is under control. Well, as under control as I can get it. I've already got someone going to help out Michelle. Please, I'll talk to you later." I hung up on him. I'd catch hell for that later, but I hoped he understood.

I switched lines again, making sure to double-check that it was the right one. "Michelle? What's happening? Michelle?" A sound rustled over the mouthpiece, then a banging noise like something falling. My heart dropped.

"Michelle?"

"Yes. I'm hiding, but the phone cord won't go any farther. I don't want to hang up, Alfred." I didn't want her to hang up. The only way I was going to find out what happened was if she stayed on the line. God, I felt so _useless_.

"Michelle, if you have to hang up, hang up, okay? The important thing is to get out of there in one piece."

"Thank you, Alfred," she said, her voice wet with tears. "Thank you for listening to me. No one's ever really listened to me before." I hadn't done anything. I _couldn't_ do anything. I was trapped behind the mike.

After that, I had to piece together events from what I was hearing. It was like listening to a badly directed radio drama. Tires squealed on asphalt. A car door slammed. Distant voices shouted. The phone slammed against something again: Michelle had dropped the handset. Running footsteps.

I paced, my hands itching to turn into claws and my legs itching to run. That happened when I got stressed. I wanted to Change and run. Run far, run fast, like Michelle had tried to do.

I called Ivan.

"**Yes?**" What _was_ that word even?

"It's me. Are you there? What's happening?"

"Give me a break, Jones, it has only been just a minute. Give me another five." He hung up.

Then on the other line, bells jingled as the door opened and closed. Footsteps moved slowly across the linoleum floor. I heard a scream. Then sobbing.

What was it about Elijah Smith that could make a vampire afraid of him?

"Michelle. Won't you return to me? You can regain what you have lost. I'll even forgive this betrayal." A calm, reasonable voice echoed like it came from a TV in the next room. It sounded like a high-school social studies teacher explaining a lurid rite-of-passage ritual as if it were a recipe for mashed potatoes. A smooth voice, comforting. Chilling. This voice spoke truth. Even over the phone, it was persuasive.

Elijah Smith, in his first public appearance.

"What are you?" Michelle said, as loud as she'd yet spoken, but the words were still muffled, filled with tears. "What are you _really_?"

"Oh, Michelle. Is it so hard for you to believe? Your struggle is most difficult of all. The ones who hate themselves, their monsters- their believe comes easy. But you, those like you… you love the monsters you have become, and that love is what you fear and hate. Your belief comes with great difficulty, because you don't really want to believe."

I sat down so heavily my chair rolled back a foot. The words tingled on my skin. He might have been talking to me, and he might have been right: I didn't believe in a cure. Was it because I didn't want to?

"A cure is supposed to be forever! Why can't I leave you?"

"Because I would hate to lose you. I love all my people. I need you, Michelle."

What was it Francis had said: _She is part of me. If she is destroyed, part of me is destroyed as well_. Could Elijah Smith be some sort of vampire feeding on need, on his followers' powers?

If only I could get _him _to pick up the phone.

Yet again, I called Ivan.

"**Yes?**" It was practically growled.

"Has it been five minutes? At least keep the line open so I know what's happening."

"Jesus, Jones. Hang on. There's an SUV parked here. Three guys are standing guard in front of the building. I don't see weapons. They might be lycanthropes. They've got that animal pacing thing going on, you know? Francis's limo is parked around the corner. Lights off. Wait, here he comes. He's trying to get in. I gotta go." I heard the safety on the gun click, then rapid footsteps.

I hated this. Everything was happening off my stage. I was blind and ignorant. For the first time, I hated the safety and anonymity of my studio.

Then Ivan said, "Don't move. These are loaded with silver."

"You!" That was Francis. "Why on earth-"

"It's Jones's idea. Get your girl and get out of here before I change my mind. You, step aside. Let him through."

I had two lines open on conference call. Two feeds of information culled from static and noise, all of it broadcasting. Outside, nothing. Ivan must have had something big trained on Smith's goons, because I didn't hear a single grumble from them.

Then from inside- "Michelle? Time to come home. Walk with me." This voice was edgy, alluring. Francis.

"Michelle-," Smith started.

"_Non_. No no no!" Michelle's denial became shrill.

"Michelle." Two voices, ice and fire, equally compelling.

"Michelle, pick up the phone! Pick up the phone and talk to me dammit!" I shouted futilely.

I wished I could talk to her. What would my voice do to the mix? What could I possibly say to her except: Ignore them! Ignore us all! Follow what heart you have left, if any, and leave them! My heart and the Wolf were pounding in my ribcage, hard.

She gave one more scream, different from the previous shrill scream of fear. This was defiant. Final. There was a crash. Something broke, maybe a set of shelves falling to the floor.

A pause grew, as painful and definitive as a blank page. Then, "This is your fault," said Francis, his voice rigid with anger. "You will pay."

"You are as much to blame," said Elijah Smith. "She killed herself. Anyone would agree with me. Her own hands are wrapped around that stake."

For a moment, I could feel the blood vessels in my ears, my lips, my cheeks. I felt hot enough to explode.

I could piece together the bits of sound I'd heard and guess what happened. A piece of split wooden shelf, maybe a broken broom handle. Then it was just a matter of aiming, falling on top of it.

_Goddamn_ _it_. My show had never gotten anyone killed before.

Francis said, "What are you?"

"If you come to me as a supplicant, I will answer all your questions."

"How _dare_ you-"

"Everyone get _out_ before I start shooting." That was Ivan, showing admirable restraint.

Quick, angry footsteps left the room, growing distant. Calm, slow footsteps followed. Then, nothing.

Ivan's voice burst through my silence, in stereo, coming through both lines now.

"Jones? Are you there? Talk to me, Jones."

My hands dug into the edge of the table. The plastic laminate surface cracked; the sound of it startled me. When I looked, my fingers were thickening, claws growing. I hadn't even felt it. My arms were so tense, my hands gripping the table so hard, I hadn't felt the shift start. I pushed away from the chair and shook my hands, then crossed my arms, pressing my fists under my elbows. Human now. Stay human, just a little longer.

"Jones!"

"Yes! Yes. I'm here…" Deep breaths now. Stay calm, stay in control.

"Did you get all that?"

"Yes. I got it all." My voice sounded so odd and distant, flat. I hadn't even said thank you to her. Thanks for the interview. I knew better than anyone how much courage it sometimes took just to open your mouth and talk.

"There's a body here. A girl. It's already going to dust. You know how they do."

"I should have done more for her."

"You did what you could," said a bit softer than usual.

A new sound in the background; police sirens.

Without a closing word, Ivan hung up, and I heard silence. Silence inside, silence out.

Silence on the radio meant death.

Antonio said, "Al? Times up. You can go thirty over if I cut out the public service announcements."

I gave a painful, silent chuckle. Public service, my ass. I sat here every week pretending I was helping people, but when it came to _really_ helping someone-

I took a deep breath. I'd never left a show unfinished. All I had to do was open my mouth and talk. "Alfred here, trying to wrap up. Michelle found her last cure. It's not one I recommend.

"Vampires don't talk about their weaknesses. They talk about the price. Their vulnerability to sunlight, wooden stakes, and crosses- it's the price they pay for their beauty, their immortality. The thing about prices, some people always seem willing to pay, no matter how high. And some people are always trying to get out of paying at all. Thanks to Michelle, you now know what Elijah Smith and his Church offer, and you know the price. At least I could do that much for her. As little as it is. Until next week, this is Alfred Jones. Voice of the night."

* * *

_So? How did it go? Did you like the chapter? Lots of drama stirring up around this Smith guy now. Who is he? What is he? What does he want with his loyal followers? All will be revealed with time, my little sweets. Until then, see you next Friday!_


	6. Act I Part VI

_It's another chapter once again! A very exciting chapter, I might add._

_WARNING: some non-con in this chapter. I didn't put a lot of detail into it, but I'll post a little warning here just to be safe._

* * *

_Part Six_

The police couldn't go after Smith for anything. There wasn't a body. The only crime they had evidence of was breaking and entering at the convenience store, and the suspect, Estelle, was gone. The Church caravan had pulled up stakes and left town by the next morning. If I hadn't had the recording of the show proving otherwise, I could have believed that none of it had happened. Nothing had changed.

The next day, another mauling death downtown, the fourth this year, made the front page of the newspaper. A sidebar article detailing the police investigation included an interview with O'Sullivan's colleague, Detective Karpusi, who happened to mention that one of the detectives on the case had consulted with Alfred Jones, the freaky talk show host. Did that mean the police were seriously considering a supernatural element to these deaths? Where they part of some ritualistic serial killing? Or did they think a werewolf was on the loose downtown? The police made no official comment at this time. That didn't stop the newspaper from speculating. Wildly. The press was calling him "Jack Junior," as in Jack the Ripper.

Sheer pigheaded determination got me through the day. Putting one foot in front of the other, thinking about things one step at a time, and not considering the big picture. The life-and-death questions. I stopped answering my phone altogether, letting voice mail screen my calls. At least the CDC/CIA/FDA government spook didn't leave any messages.

Chloe O'Sullivan left three messages in the space of an hour. Then she showed up at my office. She crossed her arms and frowned. She looked like she needed a cigarette.

"I need you to look at the latest scene."

I sat back in my chair. "Why not get that hit man.. oh… what was his name?" I pretended to think for a second. "Oh yeah!" I snapped my fingers. "Ivan. He knows his stuff."

"We got paw prints from three of the crime scenes. I took them to the university. Their wolf expert said it's the biggest print he's ever seen. It would have to be a 165-pound wolf. He says nature doesn't make them that big. The precinct is actually starting to listen to me."

"Oh, wait! That's right! You _said_ you didn't _trust_ Ivan."

"If you could come to the scene, identify any smells, or whatever it is you do, that would at least tell me that I'm dealing with the same killer."

"Why don't you just hire a _professional_?"

She unfolded her arms and started pacing. "Okay. Fine. How did you find out that I talked to the bounty hunter?"

"He told me."

"Great," she muttered.

"He wants to pool information. He has a point." Not that I would tell him that to his face.

"Look, at this stage I'm talking to everyone I can think of. I'm even consulting with someone from the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit."

I tilted my head. "You're treating this like a serial killer case? Not an out-of-control monster?"

"Serial killers _are_ monsters. This guy may be a werewolf, but he's acting like a human, not a wolf. His victims aren't random. They're well chosen; young, vulnerable women. I'm betting he picks them, stalks them, and kills them because they're easy prey." Oh, _that_ was a choice of phrase. "His MO is a serial killer's MO, not a wolf's. Or even a werewolf's. Yeah, I've been doing some of that reading you gave me. The wolves usually seem smart enough to stay away from people."

"Yeah. Usually. Look, Detective." I fidgeted, forcing myself to look at her only at the last minute. "I don't think I can go through that again. The last time really bothered me."

"What, did it look tasty to you?"

"Can't I be shocked and traumatized like anyone else?"

Arching an eyebrow skeptically, she said with a heavy dose of sarcasm, "Sorry."

I looked away, my jaw tightening. "I suppose I should feel lucky you aren't treating me like a suspect."

"You should. Statistically speaking, you fit a description of an average serial killer. Maybe a bit younger, but still. I'm not really considering you because of your track record and how cooperative you've been. And…" she shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked away from me slightly, "You really don't seem the type for this kind of thing."

I narrowed my eyes a little. "What's that supposed to mean?" Should I take that as a compliment? Well, she did think I wasn't the type to be a serial killer, so, I guess that was good? But she also didn't seem to think that I was the type to be shocked by ripped up bodies either.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Look… you don't even have to see the body if it really bothers you that much. Just come to the site, tell me anything you can about it. You have to help me, before more women die."

If this conversation had happened at any time other than the day after the show with Estelle, I could have said no. She'd already irked me with the way she trivialized my exposure to a raw corpse, like I was supposed to be immune or something. If she hadn't said that particular phrase in that particular way, I might have been able to refuse.

I hesitated for only a heartbeat before standing up and grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair.

The site of this killing wasn't far from the other, but the street was retail rather than residential. The victim was a late-night convenience store clerk walking home after her shift.

The media vans were there again, thicker than ever. The city had a serial killer, and they were all over it.

"How do they know where to go?" I asked. "They must have gotten here the same time your people did."

O'Sullivan scowled. Not at me this time, but at the reporters drifting towards us as she parked. "They listen to police band radio."

The shouting started before I even opened the car door.

"Mr. Jones! Alfred Jones! What do you think is behind these killings? What are you talking to the police about? Do you have any statement you can give us?"

On O'Sullivan's recommendation, I ignored them. She formed a barricade between me and the cameras and guided me to the corner.

She showed me the first splatter of blood at the end of the alley behind the row of shops. It looked wrong in the daylight. Too bright, too fake. Half a bloody paw print streaked the concrete nearby. The whole paw would be as big as my head.

The blood started a trail that led into the alley, where a half-dozen investigators worked intently. They blocked my view of anything else. My stomach clenched and I turned away.

O'Sullivan crossed her arms. "Well?"

I smelled it, the same wolf, along with the blood and decay. Those smells were connected to him. Like he didn't bathe, like he wallowed in death.

My nose wrinkled. "He smells… damp. Sick. I don't know."

"Is it the same guy?"

"Yeah." I still didn't want to look at the body. I couldn't. "This is worse than the last one, isn't it? He's getting more violent."

"Yeah. Come on. I'll drive you back."

She'd parked around the corner. I stood at the car door for a moment, breathing clean air before I got in. Air that didn't smell like death and flesh.

I caught O'Sullivan watching me.

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks for not making me see it."

"It really gets to you, doesn't it?" Her tone was a lot softer than it'd been earlier.

We got in the car finally, and she pulled away from the curb.

I said, "With the last one, the one that I saw, I could work out how he had done it. He wasn't shifted all the way to wolf. He could get the leverage to knock her over at the same time he ripped into her. I don't like knowing that I could do something like that."

"Being physically able to do it and being inclined to do it are two different things. You… you really _don't_ seem like the type." I could kind of see what she meant by it now. She was talking about my sense of morality, my humanity. If she listened to the show half as much as she let me think that she was, she would know how much it meant to me to want to still be a part of human society. How much I valued it. Despite how much she was probably inclined to be suspicious and distrustful of me, she really couldn't help but think that I couldn't. I'm glad that was the only side of me she's seen. I doubt she would be like this if she'd ever been around to witness what I could be like when Wolf was taking over.

"You only say that because you haven't met Mr. Hyde."

She eyed me with a mix of curiosity and skepticism at that, her brow furrowed and her smile uncertain. She dropped me off with the usual message: "Call me if you find out anything." I promised I would.

I worked late. The building was dark and quiet when I left. Once again, it was just me, the late-night DJ, and the security guard. I hadn't slept well last night, even with Mattie's comforting presence, and tonight wasn't looking any better. I didn't really want to go home, where I'd worry Mattie with my nerve-induced insomnia. I planned on walking back. It would make me tired and maybe numb my brain enough to sleep.

When I stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of the building, I smelled something wrong. Something that didn't belong. I looked- a half-dozen people were waiting there, some standing, some sitting on the sofas pushed against the wall.

They smelled cold. They smelled like the clean, well-preserved corpses they were.

The elevator door closed behind me, trapping me.

Pete, the night watchman, was sitting at his desk in the back of the lobby. Just sitting there, hands folded calmly in front of him, staring straight ahead, not blinking. Not noticing anything. The vampires had done something to him, put him in some kind of trance.

"Alfred Franklin Jones."

I flinched, startled at the sound of his voice. Francis stepped into the center of the lobby, into the spot of illumination formed by the security light. It was like he'd designed this stage himself and timed his entrance perfectly. Francis appeared to be in his late twenties, handsome and assured, with shining wavy blond hair swept back from square face with well-trimmed stubble. He wore a black evening coat, open to show the dinner jacket and band-collar dress shirt underneath. He looked like he'd stepped out of a Renaissance play, except that he moved too confidently in the modern era, looked too comfortable in the office lobby setting.

His entourage, three men and two women, moved from the sofa and the shadows to fan out around him, lending their own intimidating presences to his authority. If vampires ever spent less time playing theatrics and living down to their stereotypes, they might actually take over the world someday.

One of the women was Alice, from the nightclub. She stood a little behind Francis, frowning imperiously, like a statue. The other woman held Francis's arm and leaned on his shoulder. She was lithe and pretty, dressed in a corset and a long, chiffony skirt, an image plucked from another century. She touched him like she couldn't bear to be parted from him.

The men stood on the fringes like bodyguards. Gilbert was among them. When I caught his gaze, he flashed a smirk, seeming terribly amused by it all. They all remained still, staring at me with detached ennui. That didn't mean they weren't paying attention.

"What do you want?" I tried not to sound scared, but my heart was racing and my gaze kept shifting to the glass doors and the street beyond. I tensed my feet, wondering if I could make a run for it.

"To thank you." Francis's voice was smooth, a rich hint of French accent that he probably had to carefully maintain in order not to lose it after spending so long a time away from his native homeland.

I blinked. "…Why?"

"For helping with Michelle. And for helping me. At least, for trying to." He smiled thinly and tipped his head in a small bow. Probably the most of a show of respect that I'd ever get from such a magnanimous man.

His words brought it all back, and I felt drained all over again. I rubbed my face and looked away. "I'm sorry. I don' t know what else I could have done. I didn't _want_ it to turn out like that." More feeling seeped into my voice than I anticipated, but the feeling of utter uselessness I felt then brought a strong reaction from me. I wish it hadn't gone the way it did, but I could do nothing to change it now.

"I know," he said, his voice soft. Without the pompous edge, he sounded almost kind. He straightened, discarding that hint of other self, and smoothed the lapel of his coat. "You might also like to know that any grudge toward you I may have acted on in the past is no longer of any consideration to me."

I had to think about that for a minute. "You're not going to try and have me killed? No more threats?"

A smirk formed. "For the time being. I do reserve the right to change my mind should your behavior warrant it, however." That was understandable, I suppose. "Good evening, Alfred."

He started to turn. I took a hesitating step after him. He paused and regarded me with a questioning tilt to his head. It couldn't hurt to ask. Especially when he was being so nice- for him. I plunged ahead. "Did… did Arthur really back you in hiring Ivan to come after me?"

He narrowed his gaze, studying me. I glanced away, not wanting to get caught in his stare.

"Yes," he said finally.

I hadn't expected such a straightforward answer. My stomach knotted. Somehow, deep inside, I still wanted to think that there'd been a misunderstanding. That I'd wake up tomorrow and we'd all be friends again. But I knew that wasn't going to happen. And if I ever did want to be friends with Arthur… well, it wouldn't be for a long while. After the both of us had time to get over all that was between us now.

Francis chuckled without sound, showing the tips of his fangs. "I will say this for him though: I could tell his heart was not in it. He did care a lot for you, he just has odd ways of showing it. Especially when he fears he may lose it. I would know, we've known each other for quite a long time. Living so long as a werewolf, with human and animal instinct, it can be… trying. His sense of what is acceptable and what is not regarding others can be a bit jumbled because of it." He gave a blasé wave of his hand. "I'm sure he'll get over whatever it is between you. He can hold grudges, believe me, but he's soft at heart." Francis punctuated the end of his spiel with a smirk that made his eyes twinkle.

He strolled out the front doors, trailing vampires behind him. Gilbert was the last to leave. Before passing through the doors, he looked over his shoulder at me and parted his lips in a sympathetic grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders. Weakly, I waved farewell.

"What the hell was that all about?" I muttered, finally letting the breath I'd been holding whoosh out of me in a tired sigh. I was just filling space, breaking the intense silence left in Francis's wake, by saying it. By leaving his lair and going through the trouble of coming to see me, risking potential breach of territory, Francis had paid me one hell of a compliment. It was unexpected, to say the least.

I was still staring at the door when a voice said, "Al, you okay?" Pete was standing behind his desk, looking like he was getting ready to come over to me and take my temperature. He seemed fine, mildly concerned- and seemed to have no memory of the six vampires who had just occupied his lobby.

"I'm okay," I said, taking a breath to bring me back to earth. "How do you feel, Pete?"

He shrugged. "Fine."

"Good," I said, forcing a smile. "That's good. See you later." I left the building. My arms were covered with goose bumps.

I'd walked home at midnight, and later, plenty of times. I'd never thought twice about it. Most mundane threats I was likely to meet couldn't hurt me. So I wasn't paying as much attention as I probably should have. The breeze was blowing toward my apartment building. I was walking downwind. I would have smelled the wolf, otherwise.

He ran around the corner of the building full-tilt, his legs pumping, his body streamlined. A flash of fur and gold eyes streaked at me, and a second later he knocked me over. I sprawled flat on my back, my arms guarding my face.

I thought I'd found the rogue. Vaguely, I reminded myself to call O'Sullivan about it as soon as I could. I would have thought a rogue wolf would recognize what I was and know better than to attack me. But as soon as he breathed on me, I knew him. He smelled like Arthur's pack. Not the rogue.

I shouted, "Nikolai, get the fuck off me, you asshole!"

Nikolai straddled me, his jaw clamped on my forearm. He shook his head, ripping into flesh. When I shouted, he hesitated, but didn't let go of my arm. If I tried to pull away, he'd tear it off.

At least he couldn't infect me with lycanthropy _again_.

With my free hand, I grabbed his muzzle and squeezed hard, prying his head away from me. I squeezed harder, cartilage started to pop under my hand. I twisted my grip, pulling his lips away from his teeth. He coughed, choking, unable to breathe through his nose. I pried open his jaws enough to get my arm free, and then I used the hand on his muzzle to shove him away, backing up hastily as I did. Nikolai recovered quick, though, claws out and jaw open. This time when he tackled me, I rolled with him.

I pushed him to the ground and landed on top of him. He was a squirming bundle of muscle. His grey and black fir was slippery. I kicked him violently under the ribs. He yelped loudly and managed to burst away from my grip, weakened as my left arm was at the moment.

From within me, from a space inside my ribs and heart, my Wolf responded, his own strength surging to break free. He and I were in danger, and he was going to do something about it. I clenched my teeth and fought hard not to Change. I couldn't now, not with Nikolai in full attack mode. But my bones were melting, my skin was sliding. Right now, it would have been better to just stick to my guns than try for full Change. But Wolf wasn't having it.

I cried out, hunching over myself with the pain of it, angry at Nikolai for making me do this. The puncture wounds on my arm from his teeth stretched and seared. While I was huddled and immobile with the Change, Nikolai attacked me again.

His paws landed on my shoulders; his jaw closed around my neck. I elbowed him in his nose, getting his teeth away from me. His claws dug into me, but his teeth no longer had a hold. By this time, I had claws as well. I sat on my knees, raised my forelimbs, now stout and ending in thick, razor-tipped fingers, and raked them down his exposed belly.

They snagged and caught with a satisfying rip. I grunted as I put more effort and strength behind it, digging my claws in deeper. Six lines of blood welled up fast and matted with his fur. Elation, glee, and joy surged through me- through Wolf. This was Wolf. This power, this joy, this _blood_. My mouth watered. Wolf's mouth. I had thick canines. Fangs. Wolf wanted a piece of him.

Wolf could have him. He backed off, meeting my gaze. My vision had gone soft and glaring. The lights were too bright and the shadows too clear, but I saw him. We growled, lips curled back from angry teeth. An official challenge between us, wolf to wolf, no pack to interfere. This was nothing more than an angry animal fight, and could be taken as far as the victor was willing. It was kill or be killed. I was halfway there, to Wolf, my Wolf. Stuck in a half change, our consciousnesses swirling around each other, like two people trying to share the same pair of binoculars.

Wolf gave me the eyes, but seized control of my limbs, my legs pumped as I shot forward, instinctually ducking as Nikolai swiped his claws at me to try and stop my forward advance. Wolf grabbed his extended arms in an iron grip and with our combined strength, I could hear the bones crushing beneath our palms. My head surged forward as I ripped my teeth into his throat, the sweet taste of hot blood my reward. My jaws clamped tight, so tight, as I took away half of his neck when I jerked my head back and to the side violently.

Like a cannonball, another person crashed into Nikolai and I, knocking us away from each other hard, my surprise the only thing allowing the vice grip Wolf had on Nikolai's arms to loosen enough for separation. The grip wasn't loosened enough, however, to prevent the long, raking scars the claws on my half-transformed hands made as we were so forcefully propelled from one another. I landed on the ground hard, and Wolf was ready to bounce back up and rip at the new assailant, but I was quickly brought to my senses by the mouthful of blood and neck that I still held in my teeth. I gagged, spitting it out quicker than lighting. I started to shake and I hugged myself, trying to hold on and regain full control, to change back fully human.

Cold water. Ice. Clothing. Broccoli. Pull it in. I'd never been so far gone and pulled Wolf back before. I had a list of words, things I thought of that made Wolf go away, at least a little. Sprouts. Green. Daylight. Calm. Music. Back, "Sheep May Safely Graze." Ha. Wolf gave me control again, in too much of a good mood to put up a fight. He'd been waiting a long time to get a piece of Nikolai.

Though Wolf went away willingly, satisfied with the destruction he'd caused in giving as good as he'd got, it still hurt, like my guts were being dragged over razors, like teeth were chewing me from the inside. Bile rose in my throat as the taste and smell of all the blood in my mouth and on my face hit me like a wave. My stomach churned.

The other person was staring at me as I fully regained control. I became aware of the faint gurgling sound coming from Nikolai, but by the time I'd looked up to where his figure had landed on the street, he'd gone silent. My vision wavered as I registered his unmoving form. I'd ripped so much of his throat out that he could no longer breathe, the blood gushing from the wound drowning him, filling his lungs. His blood seeped out so quickly, forming a pool of blood around him as I started panicking. I'd just… I'd just _killed_ him. Grunting and whining came from the other person and I looked over quickly. I recognized Mattie finally, as I started to regain all my thought processes. He only hesitated a few seconds, to see that I was back in full control, before coming and grabbing me, leading me back to the apartment.

I barely registered him sitting me down on the futon before grabbing a change of clothes and setting them on the futon behind me. He kneeled in front of me in order to catch my eyes and attention, and I jolted out of my stupor at his soft concerned growl. He placed his hands on my knees, creating comfort with his touch.

"Al, are you ok?" he asked me, barely above a whisper. I shook my head. I wasn't ok. I was _far_ from ok. He nodded in understanding.

"I was driving over here and I saw him attack you. I parked the truck and ran as fast as I could to help. By the time I'd even gotten out of the truck you'd already had Nikolai's neck in your jaw. I ran at you as I saw you… I couldn't stop you in time… I've never seen anyone so far gone and come back like that. I really thought your Wolf was in full control with how far gone you looked. It was… unreal. How could you even do that?"

"We've, Wolf and I, have come to more of an understanding… I think. He's let me come back like that before… with Arthur…" I drifted off at that, and Mattie didn't have anything to say on that matter either, still a bit shell shocked. Me too, for that matter. But Mattie picked up the conversation once again.

"But, even still… if you hadn't finished Nikolai off… I might have." He growled low in his throat. "I told him that if he ever tried going after you again, I'd kill him."

My eyes were starting to sting. Damn, this was too much. "Why then? Why'd he do it? I'm not part of the pack anymore, sure, but neither are you. He'd have to have known that he'd run the risk of fighting both of us at once. And even with this being an out of pack squabble and being able to have the option to… kill me… he'd had to have known that there was the risk of it being the other way around…" My voice drained after that, knowing that outcome was exactly what had happened. We were both quiet for a beat or two.

Then Mattie said, "Someone must have put him up to it then. Someone wanted kill you, get you out of the way or something. It couldn't be just anybody though. Someone who scared him more than the threat of fighting me." Neither of us knew what to really say about that. Even after all that'd happened, neither of us actually believed that Arthur would have put Nikolai up to this. He might have done the whole bounty hunter thing, but he acted like he didn't actually believe I would be in mortal danger. Or, at least, that I couldn't get out of it if I was. He didn't actually want to kill me. And I still believed that. We had our differences, and we were going separate ways now, but I believed that he'd want to put the conflict behind him and sort of forget about it. That was just the way he was. Sweep all the problems he couldn't deal with himself under the rug and act like they didn't exist.

Francis had even thought that Arthur and I would even be able to get over it and be friends again someday, not to mention Sanvi. That had to count for something, considering how long Francis, Sanvi, and Arthur had known each other. So no, I didn't think Arthur was behind all of this. Neither did Mattie, by the way he never even suggested Arthur's name. And with Francis harboring no ill will towards me anymore, he was out of the picture too. I told Mattie as much.

"Then we really have no idea." He sighed, sounding as tired as I felt. "I need to take care of that body down there, before someone sees it. You wash up, change your clothes. I'll take the body back to my place and bury it. I'll come back for you, ok? We'll figure out what to do next. Just… keep calm, ok?" He seemed very reluctant to leave me alone, his touch lingering before he stood. I couldn't blame him, I probably looked like shit. I _felt_ like shit. I nodded without speaking and he gave me one more concerned look before leaving.

I just sat there on the futon for what felt like thirty minutes before raising my hands to rub my face, but stopping after seeing the blood on my fingers. By now, the blood on my face had dried and started to flake, making my face feel terribly uncomfortable. I could still taste it in my mouth, the blood, and it sickened me. I carefully grabbed up the clothes Mattie had put on the futon earlier and took a shower. As the scalding water ran over me, I watched the patterns, water turning the blood pink. I hadn't even registered before now that my arm was still bleeding, though very weakly. The water washed away enough that I could see the holes in my skin from Nikolai's teeth. I stood there staring, watching the scabs form and the edges of the holes come together, like time-lapse photography. Like dirt filling in a grave. And then like that, it was gone without a trace. I scrubbed my whole body until it was red and raw, and I still didn't feel clean.

How was I ever going to get through this? I'd killed him. I hadn't been this traumatized since the first night Nikolai attacked me and brought me into Arthur's pack. Nikolai wasn't any older than I was. I could still see his hair splayed around his head like a crown, in my mind's eye. Soaked with the blood that was pooling on the street. His mouth was open. His eyes were closed. He smelled like Arthur's pack, a familiar, warm scent that jarred with the overwhelming wash of blood. Wrong, wrong. I gagged, but didn't vomit, fighting back heaving sobs. I quickly turned off the spray of scalding water and dried and dressed myself as fast as I possibly could. I didn't want to look at myself and I avoided putting the bathroom mirror into my line of sight. I managed to stumble back to my futon, flopping face-down onto it. I didn't want to be alone right now. But Mattie was out of the question at the moment.

I was more hurt than I wanted to admit. I felt more than ever the sickly feeling of just wanting to rip my skin off, anything to get away from myself. To peel it back and let Wolf change it into fur and just let it go and keep my consciousness pushed down, down, deep so I didn't have to worry or think anymore. Too much, too much.

I considered who I could call. No one really came to mind.

One of my former pack had just attacked me. I'd just killed him. And Mattie was out saving my ass, as per usual. Not too many others would know what to do with me. I thought of Gilbert, then thought of what he might do when he saw all the blood. I was positive even after the shower that he'd be able to smell it on me. He might not have my well-being immediately in mind.

I called Ivan. Again, I called Ivan where any normal, sane person would have called the police. But who was I kidding? I wasn't exactly innocent here. How exactly would I even explain this? To say that I was attacked when my body had already healed all trace, and Mattie was getting rid of the evidence. It would look more like a murder than anything. At least I wouldn't have to explain as much with Ivan.

I dialed the number, and as usual he didn't answer until after half a dozen or so rings.

"It's Alfred. I need help." To his credit, he barely even hesitated.

"Where are you?"

"Home." I dropped the phone into its cradle.

I lay there on the futon, on my back, unmoving, unseeing, eyes blankly staring ahead at the ceiling. I pushed every single thought away until I was just laying there numb, not thinking of anything. Just breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

The next thing I knew, he was standing there. Ivan. I sat up slowly and squinted at him. I was so out of it, I didn't know for how long he'd been there. He might have been standing there for hours, watching me.

"How'd you get in?" I asked.

"The front door wasn't locked. What happened to you?" He could tell something was wrong. It was probably obvious, with the way I was acting.

"A fight." I said it like the end of a conversation. Ivan tilted his head, but remained quiet. He went to my kitchen and searched the cupboards until he found a glass. He leaned over the sink, filled the glass with water, and came back and handed it to me. I drank and felt better. A drink of water. I should have thought of that.

"You look like hell," he said.

"I feel worse." His gaze drifted over me.

"Doesn't look like you're hurt."

"It's not that." Wolf was in the back of my mind, pacing but quiet. All energy and nowhere to go. It made me feel antsy.

"There's a good amount of blood in the driveway. Any of it yours?"

"Some of it." Maybe. I didn't have that big of a wound to begin with. Most, if not all, of the blood I'd spilt from my arm was soaked up to the sleeve of the shirt that I'd been wearing.

"So, what happened to the other guy, then?" I gave him a deadpan stare. He held my gaze. I closed my eyes after a period of silence between us and breathed in deep through my nose.

"He was another werewolf. Attacked me out of nowhere. I… the pack I was with before, I left it awhile ago. He was part of that pack. He's…" My throat felt dry. "He's dead."

Ivan watched me as I talked, eyes unreadable. "Why'd you call me for help?"

"I can't trust anyone, and you said you owed me. Didn't you?" My voice sounded small, even to me. Distant and not my own. He didn't say anything, but came over to me and sat next to me on the futon. I hesitated a little before leaning on him and laying my head on his shoulder. We sat there for awhile.

"Is Ivan your real name?"

"It seems to work all right." Not confirming or denying.

"How did you get into this line of work, anyways?"

He gave a soft grunt. "Runs in the family." Ah.

"You said you left your pack? You don't have anyone at all to turn to?" He said the last with more concern that I've ever heard from him.

"I have Mattie. He's… dealing with other things."

"So that explains where the body went, then." I closed my eyes as I felt myself start to shake again. He abruptly got up and started to gather up my covers.

"I didn't think werewolves went into shock," he said, almost to himself. He draped it over my shoulders, moving them around to my front, kneeling down and bringing the edges close together, tugging me into a warm cocoon. I snuggled into the shelter of the blankets, sighing deeply, finally letting go of the tension.

Just how long has it been since I'd felt warm and safe, with Mattie away? And how ironic, that I should feel like that now, with him. The werewolf hunter. He was right; I must have been shock.

Before he could draw his hand away from the blanket, I reached for it. I was fast and gentle; his hand twitch a little at the sudden contact, but didn't move it as I pressed it against my shoulder. The pressure was there before he realized that I'd moved.

Members of a pack feel safer in groups. Touch holds them together. Two members of a pack can rarely be in the same room without touching every now and then, sometimes nothing more than the backs of their hands brushing together, or the furred shoulders of wolves bumping. Touch meant everything was going to be okay. For that moment, for a split second, I wanted Ivan to be pack like Mattie was, that close connection.

The human voice came to the fore and noticed how freaking odd this must have looked to him. I pulled my hand away and looked down, shaking my head.

"Sorry, I-"

He took my hand back, his grip gentle. My eyes widened. He curled my fingers into his grip and squeezed. His skin was cool compared to the fire that seemed to be raging just beneath the surface of my own. The touch rooted me, brought me away from the pain. Everything was going to be okay.

He was still kneeling in front of me from drawing the covers around me, which meant his head was a little lower than mine. I looked down on him, slightly. He was in the perfect place for me to kiss him. There was a faint sound of rain coming from outside. When had it started raining? It didn't matter.

I touched his cheek with my free hand, pushing the edge of his scarf down and brushed my lips against his, lightly, just to see what he would do. His eyes widened a fraction and I swear I saw a tinge of blush. He hesitated, but he didn't pull away.

Then he kissed back, light at first then pressing harder. His mouth was warm, his lips active, grasping. I tried to match his energy, move my lips with his, letting the heat of attraction burn through my body, through my muscles. I wrapped an arm around his neck and slid off the edge of the futon, pressing myself to him. He held me there, his hands against my back. He moved his kisses from my lips to my chin, up my jaw, to my ear. Clinging to him, I stifled a gasp.

I hadn't been with a normal, non-lycanthropic human since I'd become a werewolf. I'd been afraid to be with a normal human. Afraid of what I might do if I lost it. But Ivan could take care of himself. Being with him was different from being with a lycanthrope. Somehow, for some reason, I hadn't really realized it would be different. I was stronger than he was. I could feel the strength in my muscles pressing against him. I could hold him away or squeeze him until he cried out. It made me feel powerful, more in control than I ever had been in my life. I wanted to take him in, all of him. I could hear the blood rushing through his body, sense the strain of desire in his tendons. He smelled different from lycanthropes. More… civilized, like soap and cars and houses. He didn't smell like Arthur's pack, or Mattie, and that made him new. Exciting. I decided I liked the way he smelled.

I buried my face in his hair and took a deep breath. I squirmed out of his grip so that I could work my way down his whole body, tracing the whole scent of him, down his neck, pressing my face to his scarf that his scent stuck to thickly, along the collar of his shirt, down his torso and the hint of chest hair through the fabric, across his chest to his armpit, which burst with his smell. I lingered there, then nuzzled my way down to the waistband of his jeans, and oh, I couldn't wait to find out how he smelled down there…

Grabbing my shoulders, Ivan pushed me away and held me at arm's length.

"What are you doing?" His vibrant eyes were wide, he looked so flustered and maybe a bit wild. This new side of him, the one beneath the mask of professionalism he'd developed for bounty hunting, was also fascinating. Knowing that he squirmed just like any other person made me feel like I'd seen some deep secret. I couldn't help but feel a bit proud of the fact. He looked terribly cute.

"You smell fresh." I strained toward him, my eyes half-closed, wanting to plunge back into the scent of him. He stood, putting space between us.

"You're not human." Stated, reaffirming the fact. Like he had to remind himself. He marched away.

I knelt in front of the futon on the floor, my knees digging into the hardwood, my heart pounding, reaching for the body that wasn't there. After a moment of recollecting myself, _What the hell were you thinking, Alfred?_, I wandered to the other half of the apartment. He leaned against the opposite wall, his arms crossed, defensive, protecting himself, staring at the door like he couldn't understand why he didn't just leave.

"I'm sorry," I said. I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for, but I felt like I needed to say it. For being what I was, maybe. I couldn't help that, though, so I didn't want to apologize for it. So I was apologizing for this. For calling him. For kissing him. For not guessing how he would react.

He started to say one thing, then shook his head. He looked at the floor, then looked at me.

"How did you get like this? You're not the kind that goes asking for it." I motioned him to follow me and went back to the futon. I sat at the edge and hugged my knees. Ivan came to lean against the wall near me, not willing to sit next to me, I supposed. I wouldn't have sat next to me either. What had that government spook asked me? Who did I go to when I needed advice, when I needed to talk? What would I say if someone called and told me my story? Tough break, kid. Deal with it. But it didn't assuage the anger I still felt. The anger I still hadn't dealt with. I'd never told anyone the whole story, not even Mattie or anyone else in Arthur's pack.

I wasn't sure Ivan was the right person to tell, but I didn't know when I'd get another chance to talk.

"Wrong place at the wrong time," I said, and told him the story.

Cameron was handsome. I'd give him that much. Short orange-red hair, square jaw, wild sideburns, devilish grin, smooth Scottish accent. Couldn't tell what he was saying if he got too angry, excited or started talking too fast, but it drove the girls wild. He was a guy living on the wild side, star of the unofficial rugby team a bunch of guys got together and formed at our college and I was… well, I was confused and curious. He impressed me because he was rugged and arrogant.

We were at a Fourth of July party in Estes Park, in the mountains, where they launched fireworks into the valley and the noise echoed back and forth between the hills. He'd spend to whole time talking smack with his friends, while gripping me around the shoulder like it was some leash to keep me away from the rest of the party. That was what I got for being blond and looking good in tight jeans. My face hurt from forcing it to smile at everyone. It wasn't the kind of party that I usually went to, parties that were more of a social function. This was the type of party all the sporty guys got together and tried to out drink each other and one-up each other with tales of grandeur. I wasn't really having a good time, and I was ready for the night to be over. There were a dozen other Fourth of July parties I would have rather gone to where I would have had a much better time. I wish I had.

He spent the car ride back to town crawling his hand up my leg, trying to get into my pants. I was a bit impaired, but not drunk enough that I didn't know what he was trying to pull.

"I want to go back to the dorms. _My _dorm," I said for the fifth time, pushing his hand away.

"But it's still early."

"So?"

"Whatever."

So he drove, and I stared out the window. When he turned onto a side road, it was in the middle of nowhere and there wasn't much I could think of to do about it.

"Where are we going?" Scrub oak and pine trees lined the narrow road. It lead to a trailhead near a river. "Turn around."

The place was popular with hikers and mountain bikers during the day. But this was midnight. Cameron shut off the headlights and pulled to a corner of the parking lot shaded by overhanging branches. I grabbed for the door handle, but he pushed the automatic lock as he stopped the engine.

He moved so fast, I bet he'd done this before. He might have had more than me, but he also could hold his liquor much, much better than I could. And the fact he was extremely active in sports, and I could barely get myself up to jog in the mornings.

He held my arms, pinning them, and clambered to my side of the car, pressing me to the bucket seat. Two hundred pounds of Cameron weighed on me, and no matter how much I squirmed, I couldn't get away. I started hyperventilating.

"Relax, baby. Just relax."

I kept saying, _No, fuck, no stop, please_, the whole time. I'd never been so scared and angry. How could I have let this happen to me? Why couldn't I stop him? Why me? When he brought his face close, I bit him. He slapped me and pounded into me that much harder.

I tasted blood. I'd bitten my cheek, and my nose was bleeding.

With a sigh, he rolled away finally. It still hurt.

I scrabbled at the lock until it clicked, pulling up pants and underwear, opening the door and tumbling out. Anything to get away fast.

Cameron shouted after me. "Don't you want a ride back? Christ!" He started up his car and pulled away.

I ran. Legs weak, breath heaving, I ran away. I only wanted to get away. '_How could I let this happen?'_ was all that I could think '_What did I do to deserve this? Was it my fault for not being able to protect myself?'_ I was delirious with exhaustion and fear.

A full moon shone that night. Weird shadows lit the grass and scrub. This was stupid; I had no idea where I was, no idea how I was going to get home. I slid into the grass and sobbed. Stupid Alfred. This whole night was stupid and look where it got me.

A picnic area lay a little ways from the parking lot. Shelters covered some of the tables. I sat down at one, pulling my knees to my chin and hugging myself. I figured I'd just sit here until some jogger found me in the morning and call the cops. I could do that. Hug myself to stop shivering, maybe go to sleep. Just forget it, forget this night.

Maybe I dozed. Maybe I thought it was a nightmare at first when the shrubs nearby rustled. A shadow moved. Its fur was like shadow, silvery and brindled. It turned gold eyes on me. Canine nostrils quivered.

It stepped closer, head low, sniffling, never turning from me. The wolf was as big as a Great Dane, with bulky shoulders and a thick ruff of fur. Even with me sitting on the table, it could reach me without trying.

Later, I learned the wolf could smell the blood from my injuries, and instinct had told it a wounded animal was near. Easy prey.

I trembled like a rabbit, and like a rabbit, the minute I thought of running, it pounced.

I screamed as its claws raked my leg and I lurched away, falling off the table. I kept screaming when its jaw clamped on my hip. Using that as purchase, it climbed up my body, scratching the whole way. My flesh gave way like butter, pieces of it flaying with every touch.

Panic, panic, panic. I kicked its face. Startled, it backed off for a moment. In an adrenaline haze, I jumped and grabbed hold of the edge of the shelter's roof. Gasping, clutching, gritting my teeth, I swung one leg up. The wolf jumped, scraped claws down the other leg. I screamed, falling- but no, I clutched the edge, the wolf lost its grip, and I caught one leg over the edge, then the other. Lying there, spent, I dared to looked own.

The wolf looked back at me, but it couldn't reach me. It turned and ran.

I didn't have the energy to move another muscle, so I fell unconscious, one arm hanging over the edge of the shelter.

Something squeezed my hand. The sky was light, pale with dawn.

With a shriek, I pulled my hands close and started shaking. Blood caked my torn jeans, my legs underneath, my shirt. Blood had pooled on the roof of the shelter, but it was dried. I wasn't bleeding anymore.

Carefully, I inched closer to the edge.

Hands gripped there, and a woman hoisted herself up. I scrambled crablike away from her, all the way to the other edge. I looked down to where a couple of men stood, watching me with cold eyes. The woman knelt at the edge of the roof. She had long black hair, brown eyes, and moved with a dancer's grace, settling to a seated position without taker her gaze off of me.

"What's your name?" she said.

I looked around. A half-dozen of them surrounded the shelter, men and women in various states of scruffiness, unshaven and uncombed, wearing clothing without a care for looks, only functionality. I learned later, too, that for werewolves, it was better to wear clothes that you could easily get out of or not care that you ripped. Especially on full moon nights, with a large pack stripping and changing. Clothes were bound to be damaged or lost. All of them were barefoot. The woman on the shelter with me wore jeans and t-shirt without much thought to style. Still, they all managed to intimidate, radiating strength just in the way they stood.

I didn't answer.

"The bites, the scratches- do they hurt?"

I had to think about it, which meant they didn't hurt. I touched my hip. It was tender, but not painful.

"Look at the wounds," she said, "What do you see?"

I pulled up my shirt, exposing where the wolf had taken a bite. A scar, red and healing, maybe a week old, puckered the skin. The gouges on my legs were pink lines, closed and healing. The first bite I'd been given, the one on my hip, healed… different than the other claw marks. This, I'd learned, was normal. The very first bite you receive that turns you, if you survive, stays with you as a testament of what happened, an eternal scar. A constant reminder of that attack that made you become what you are.

I started hyperventilating again. I managed to gasp, "How do you know what happened?"

She said, "One of _our_ people attacked you. We're here to take responsibility for his actions."

"But you're-"

She crept toward me, her eyes focused on me, her nostrils quivering. I flinched, but if I backed away any farther I'd fall off.

"I won't hurt you. None of us will hurt you. Please, tell me your name."

All I wanted to do in that moment was fall into her arms, because I really believed she wouldn't hurt me. It wasn't natural, to my still human thoughts, to feel this way after all that had happened to me that night.

"Alfred," I said in a small voice. For a moment, she sat still, staring.

Finally, she said, "Things are going to be different now, Alfred. There are things you're going to have to learn to adjust to this new life you've been given."

"I don't understand."

"You will. You'll have to, to survive. I'll help as much as I can. It is my responsibility to. Matthew?"

Hands appeared on the edge of the roof behind me. One of the young men pulled himself up easily, like he was hopping onto a tabletop and not climbing up a seven-foot-high shelter. He crouched at the edge, one hand resting on the roof to steady himself. He was- god, he was gorgeous. Pale and toned with flaxen wavy blond hair flopped around an intense face.

He radiated energy and scared the daylights out of me. I backed away, scraping my knees on the roof's asphalt shingles. But then she was there, just as intense, trapping me. I curled in on myself, on the edge of screaming. Something inside me started to rip. I could both feel and sense something starting to form deep within me.

"Who are you people?"

The man, Matthew, said, "We're the pack."

A sudden convulsion wrenched me, and I blacked out.

I fell in and out of consciousness for the next three days. I remembered a little- the smell of the park that morning, pine trees and dew. Someone carried me. Someone else- her, the woman- kept a hand on my shoulder. Voices, which I couldn't keep straight.

"He smells like sex."

"Sex and fear."

I shook my head and tried to struggle, but I was like a baby, arms flailing without gaining purchase, too weak to pull away. "No, stop, don't touch, don't touch…" I gasped.

"He was raped, Sanvi," the man said.

"You don't suppose Nikolai-"

"It doesn't smell like Nikolai."

"Someone else, then. Might explain how he ended up out here."

"Wish he'd talk."

"He will later. He's got a couple of days of this yet." I groaned. I had homework, I couldn't-

I opened my eyes.

I lay on a bed. A sheet was tangled around me, like I'd been thrashing in my sleep. I wore a t-shirt- nothing else- and I was clean. I was cold, and sweat matted my hair. I took a deep breath- I didn't know how long I'd been sleeping, but I felt exhausted, like I'd been running. I didn't want to move.

The pale blond idol from the park was sitting in a chair by the bed, watching me. The woman moved from another chair to sit on the foot of the bed. I looked back at them waiting to feel panic. I'd been kidnapped. Some cult thing. Did Cameron put them up to this? None of that seemed right, and I didn't feel afraid at all. Somehow, I felt safe. Like I knew they were here to watch over me, to take care of me. I was sick. Very sick.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Not good. Tired. Wrung out." He nodded like he understood.

"Your metabolism's all fucked up. It'll work itself out in a few days. Are you hungry?"

I hadn't thought so, but as soon as he said it, my belly felt hollow and I was starving.

"Yeah, I guess I am." I sat up.

He left through a door in what appeared to be a well-lit bedroom. Sanvi studied me. I looked away, feeling suddenly shy. Matthew returned carrying a platter with a steak, like he'd had it waiting. I looked skeptically at it. I loved steak as much as the next guy, but there was an awful lot, and it looked awfully undercooked. He set it on the bed-stand and handed me a knife. Reluctant, I sliced into it. It bled. Profusely.

I dropped the knife. "I don't like them rare."

"You do now."

I thought I was going to cry. Glaring at him, my voice barely a whisper, I said, "What's happening to me? Why aren't I afraid of you?" I couldn't wrap my brain around it. I _should_ be afraid of them. But I wasn't. Something deep within me was calming me. Like an instinct.

He knelt beside the bed. I looked down on him now, which was comforting. Sanvi came around to the other side and sat next to me, so close I could feel her body heat. I was trapped, and my hear started racing.

She took my hand, then raised both our hands to my face. "What do you smell?"

Was she nuts? But with our hands right in front of my nose, I couldn't help but smell as I breathed. I expected to smell skin. Maybe soap. Normal people smells. But- there was more. I closed my eyes and breathed deep. Something rich and vibrant, like earth and mountain air. It wasn't soap or new-age deodorant or anything like that. It was her. I calmed down.

Before I knew it, Matthew was sitting beside me, an arm around my shoulder, pressing his body close to me and breathing into my hair. It wasn't sexual; there wasn't anything sexual about it- that was so hard to explain to people who didn't know.

"This is our pack," Sanvi said, holding me from the other side. "You're safe here."

I believed her.

By now, Ivan was sitting on the floor. He seemed more relaxed. He didn't have that look on his face that he'd had when he left me, like he was being hunted or something.

"That's… some luck," he said finally.

I shook my head, smiling wryly. I'd made my peace with it. Telling the story, I realized who I'd been most angry at all this time.

I said, "Now ask me which one I think is the real monster. Nikolai… his wolf, at least, was following instinct. He couldn't control it. But Cameron… he knew exactly what he was doing. And he wasn't sorry." After a pause, I added, "It was Nikolai. The one that attacked me today." I'd always had a hatred for Nikolai, being the one that changed me. I guess, in retrospect, it was a little unfair, but I couldn't just push that aside. Not when the scar, a daily reminder, kept me trapped in that old hurt. Nikolai wanting to hang around me didn't help, either. But it was a far cry from Cameron.

When I leaned back, I could see out the window. It was streaked with water, rain was still pouring. From the second floor, I could see the street, but I couldn't see where Nikolai had been, see if the blood had washed away.

"You think anyone called the cops?"

"Depends," he said, "How much noise did you all make?"

I couldn't remember. To the casual listener, it might have sounded like stray dogs fighting. I was thinking about calling Mattie soon, finding out where he was.

"You should get some rest. You may heal quick, but you still lost a lot of blood. You going to be okay on your own?" A bit of softness that he couldn't fully suppress seeped through in his tone.

I thought about it a minute, and thought I would be okay. Maybe I'd just go to Mattie's and we'd stay there tonight.

"Yeah, I think so." I smiled crookedly. "I'm glad you're not the type to shoot all werewolves on principle."

He may have actually smiled at that, but it was thin-lipped and fleeting. "Just give me an excuse, Jones." He made a haphazard wave and left the apartment.

Man, that guy scared me. He also made my knees weak, and I wasn't sure if the two were related.

He was right, I was tired, but I wanted to check on Mattie before I slept. I'd only made a half-hearted attempt at reaching for the phone when Mattie himself opened the door.

"I swear I've seen that guy before," he joked, "Is this going to be a regular thing now?" I sighed and flopped on my back, staring at the ceiling.

"I have no idea."

* * *

_Ooooooo, looks like some emotions are starting to rise! And poor Alfie, eh? Tell me what you thought about the chapter! Lots of new and exciting things happening. And lots more to come! Makes you wonder what's going to happen next._


	7. Act I Part VII

_Oh, joy of joys! Friday is here! And you know what that means. NEW CHAPTER! I've got an action packed one right here just for you. So, are you excited? Let's not waste any more time then!_

* * *

_Part Seven_

Mattie wasted no time in hopping on the futon and snuggling as close to me as he possibly could. I grumbled a bit, because he was wet from the rain outside, but I didn't stop him. His presence beside me was comforting, especially after all that had happened. I still felt particularly embarrassed at all that had happened with Ivan. I wished that I could just forget the last couple of hours entirely.

"You ok?" he asked me softly. I sighed.

"I will be. Freaking out about everything isn't going to make it any better." Mattie didn't look entirely convinced.

"Look, can we just, go back to your place or something? I don't really feel like staying here. Not for tonight."

"You can stay as long as you need to." He paused for awhile, looking out the window and into the rain. "Haven't had any luck trying to find that rogue, and the rain isn't going to help." There was just way too much shit being thrown at us. When would I get a break? We both got up from the futon eventually. Mattie was still worried, asking me if I needed anything before we left. I told him that I would just steal whatever I wanted from his house, and we both managed to crack a smile.

As we were about to leave, there was a knock on the apartment door. Mattie frowned, and opened it. I stood behind him, peering out from over his shoulder.

Standing there, not a hair out of place, was a woman that could have been Ivan's twin, and looked to be around her mid-twenties, same as me. She had long, razor straight ash blonde hair and eyes sharp as knives. She wore an immaculate pantsuit, had a black umbrella held in one hand, and the other propped on her hip. She looked like something straight out of a mafia movie, as cliché as that sounded.

"This is the residence of one Alfred F. Jones, I presume?" she asked, not a hint of accent anywhere in her tone. It was filled with confidence and maturity beyond her years. Her eyes flickered from Mattie's face to mine and back as the two of us exchanged surprised glances.

"Uh, yeah, that would be me?" I said uncertainly, tugging at the back of Mattie's shirt so that I could take his place at the front door. He backed up for me, but never let his gaze fall from the woman. He was in protector mode I could tell, from the way his nostrils flared slightly, taking in her scent. She was human, I knew that much. But the hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight and I had an uneasy feeling.

She looked me up and down, her facial expression blank. "I am Natalya Braginski. Ivan has informed me of the possibility of you needing a lawyer." She stuck the hand that was previously on her hip straight out in the gesture of accepting a handshake. I swallowed and shook it. Her grip was like iron.

"I don't know If I'll need your services or not." She flipped her hair with a toss of her head.

"It never hurts to be prepared, Mr. Jones. My card." She reached into her pants pocket and handed her card to me. Oh. That was a big number there she had listed by her rates. It was a per-hour number.

"Are you any good?" I asked. She fixed a steely look upon me.

"Ivan isn't in jail."

I smiled in spite of myself. "Should he be?"

She said nothing for a second, before a slight smirk started to curl at one end of her mouth. She looked like a hawk. It made me feel thankful that she was on my side. Ivan too, for that matter, if he recommended her to me. It made me glad, also, that I hadn't pressed charges against Ivan the night he barged in on the show. O'Sullivan was confident that she could have pinned him with charges, but now, looking at Natalya, I really wasn't sure. I fixed her with my own stare.

"Me being a werewolf. Does it bother you? Are you an anti-monster crusader like Ivan?" She rolled her eyes at me like I was a twelve year old that had said something immature.

"If Ivan was a 'crusader' as you say, he'd have shot you the first time he met you, no matter what the circumstances were."

"Then what is he?"

"He just likes seeing how close he can get to the edge without falling off." She gave a thin lipped frown as slight, disapproving gesture. Somehow, Ivan as a mercenary-with-a-death-wish was a scarier proposition than Ivan as a mercenary-with-convictions.

"And what are you?"

She shrugged off my suspicion. "Equal opportunity attorney-at-law." Huh. She seemed to be a good fit for Ivan, as lawyers went. I could really picture her in a gangster movie now, finding loopholes and talking tough at the judge.

"I'll think about it."

"At the very least, I recommend you not do anything reckless. You have a hard time staying away from trouble I hear."

"It's not by choice I assure you." I hesitated. "I'm… we're not really used to human law. There wouldn't even be all this fuss if we were still in our pack. Easier cleaning up the bodies that way, if it was an in-pack squabble." In-pack squabbles didn't usually end with someone dead, but they could easily. A thin, well trimmed eyebrow raised at the statement.

"You have my card if you are ever in need of my services," She spoke, and then, as quickly and unexpectedly as she came, she was gone, walking away briskly and professionally, until she had turned the corner and was out of sight. Mattie and I exchanged glances before going out ourselves, hurrying a bit as to avoid any other sort surprise that might show itself. We'd had enough of them for today.

When we arrived at Mattie's place, we quickly slipped in and locked the door behind us. He had two rooms, a living room with a hide-a-bed and a kitchen/utility room. The bathroom was in back. I took off my jacket and shoes and curled up on his bed. Mattie laid next to me and started running his fingers through my hair in a comforting gesture. With his face next to mine, I saw him inhale deeply.

"You have the scent of that guy all over you," He informed me with a raised eyebrow. I flushed.

"I don't wanna talk about it," I mumbled. I was already kicking myself for even kissing him. It was stupid. But at least I'd gotten a lot of things off my chest because of it. I really needed to start thinking about things before I did them. I guess I was out of it. Still was, maybe. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, hiding myself from his gaze.

We slept for a time. I was only half-awake when he stretched his back and sat up. He paused, took several deep breaths, then brought his face close to me.

"Hey, sleepy-head. You want something to eat?"

"Yes." I groggily drew the word out longer than was necessary, making grabby hands at him. He smiled.

"Pancakes it is then." He set to work on them quickly, along with some bacon and eggs. I didn't realize how hungry I'd gotten until I could smell the food. I roused myself from the living room to prop myself into a chair in the kitchen at the table. I ate hungrily, but I noticed Mattie wasn't. He picked at his for awhile, breaking the yolks of his fried eggs and stirring them with bacon. It was weird not to see him eating his pancakes. He loved them more than I did, and that was saying something.

"What if we just ran from here? From everything? Just turned wolf and ran into the hills and never came back?" He whispered after awhile. I stopped eating to stare at him, setting my fork down.

"The way you were half transformed like that… I still can't wrap my brain around it. I mean, I've seen people half transformed, we both have. But not like that. And then you came back. You _came back_ after all of it. It just made me think… it would be so easy to just let it all go. I could never come back like that."

Mattie always did have such a hard time avoiding Changing, resisting the urge. I saw it in the way he started going out and running more frequently, even when he didn't have to. It worried me.

"Have you ever heard of someone Changing and not being able to shift back?" I asked

"I've heard stories. It hasn't happened to anyone I know."

"I don't want you to go wolf. You're losing yourself. You're not a wolf."

"We're not? Then what are we?" Frustration was seeping into his voice. "Every day it gets harder and harder to resist… and for what? Hiding ourselves from humans, this struggle to live a normal life…" His fists clenched.

"I know being wolf can be a strength, Mattie. I know using it can help. But that's not who we are. You were human once, Mattie, remember? I can't… I can't just give up such a big piece of me. There are things worth being human for. And besides that… I'd miss you… Who'd look out for me if you go?"

Mattie cracked a shaky smirk. "I thought you said you could take care of yourself." I started to smile too, but I could feel myself trembling, and my eyes were starting to mist over.

"For all this strength, Mattie, I couldn't last a day without you. I can't survive alone." And it was true. I needed support. I needed reassurance. Mattie could tell me that everything was ok, and it would be. I believed him, and it made everything better. Alone, I would run myself into the ground with self-doubt. Without a pillar to hold me, I'd be my own cripple. I guess it stemmed from growing up with such a strong family, feeling like I could do anything with their support. That only heightened when I became a werewolf. The pack mentality of safety in numbers, craving to hold the people most precious to you closely into your group, to look after each other and have each other's backs.

"It'll be ok, Mattie. I know it will. We just have to get through this together." I whispered. I said it as much to him as I was saying it to myself. We could do this. Giving up and going wolf wouldn't help anything.

After helping Mattie clean up dishes, I went home. I opened a window and let in some air, because the place still felt like Ivan, and I'd rather just forget about that whole fiasco for a little while. I pulled Natalya's card out of my pocket and left it on the kitchen counter. I washed my face and brushed my teeth, looked at myself in the mirror. Red, puffy eyes. Dark circles. I looked pale.

I started to tell myself that I just had to wait for everything to get back to normal. Take it one step at a time, things would settle down, and I'd feel better. But I stopped, because I tried to think of what was normal, and I couldn't remember.

Shape-shifting once a month, waking up tangled with a half-dozen other naked bodies, sniffing armpits as foreplay. Was that normal? The wolf part of me had loved Arthur, let him beat up on me, tell me what to do, just because he was alpha, because it felt right to Wolf. And everything about that had sent my human half on edge, it was wrong. By human standards, it was abuse. And that was just it. The human standard and the Wolf standard were just so radically different. I've been a werewolf for so long that it was getting so hard to know what I was supposed to do, what I was supposed to follow. Normal without the wolf was just so long ago that I couldn't remember what it was like anymore.

"… be kinda cool to look through a bunch of autopsy reports and find out how many of those people were shot with silver bullets."

"I'm going to add that to my list," I said into the microphone. "Do the police check bullets for silver content?"

"They ought to," the caller said with a humph. "Seems kind of obvious, doesn't it?"

"Indeed. Thanks for calling. This is Alfred, and in case you've just tuned in, I'm putting together a list of questions that law enforcement officials might want to start asking about crimes. Our topic tonight is law enforcement and the supernatural. I've got some national crime statistics here, a breakdown of murders that happened all over the U.S. last year- murder weapons, causes of death, that sort of thing. It says here that police reported that fourteen people died with stakes in through their hearts last year. Of those fourteen, eight were also decapitated, and three were found draped with crosses. All were reported as, quote, ritualistic slayings, unquote. I should think so. My question is, did they check to see if those murder victims really were vampires? Could they check? Probably not. Some varieties of vampire disintegrate upon death. Though there exists a CDC report describing tests for identifying lycanthropes and vampires. Let's take a call. Hello, Ray, you're on the air."

"Hi, Alfred. I just want to bring up a point you seem to be missing: If those fourteen 'murder victims,' as you call them, really were vampires, is it really murder?"

Ooh, controversy. "What do you think?"

"Well, I'd call it self-defense. Vampires are predators, and their only prey is humanity. Humanity has a vested interest in getting rid of them whenever they can." Sounded like a rancher talking about wolves.

"Gee, Ray. Some of my best friends are vampires. What if the vampire in question has never killed anyone? Let's say she only takes blood from voluntary donors, keeps to herself, never causes trouble. Then one day some crusading vampire hunter comes along and stakes her just because she's a vampire."

"That's been going on for hundreds of years. I think you're the first person to call it _murder_."

"Actually, I'm not. At the risk of offending lots of people out there in lots of different ways, the Nazis didn't call it murder either." I clicked off the line before you could say anything indignant. "Let me present another thought experiment. We've got a werewolf, vampire, whatever. He's killed someone for no good reason. What should happen? If it were a normal person, he'd get arrested, go on trial, probably go to jail for a really long time. Maybe be sentenced to death if the situation warranted. Now, let's take the werewolf. Can we put a werewolf in jail for a really long time? What are they going to do with him when the full moon comes along? Or the vampire- do you realize how impractical it would be to sentence a vampire to life in prison? I've got Timothy on the line. Hello."

The caller said in a low, smooth voice, "Of course it's impractical sentencing a vampire to life in prison. I think there'd be no other choice but to have a vampire hunter take care of the problem. That's what they're for."

"So you're saying law enforcement should stay completely out of it. Just let the vampire hunters loose willy-nilly."

"Of course not. Unless the vampires are allowed to hunt the hunters, willy-nilly, as you say."

I was guessing he was a vampire. He had that arrogant tone, and that clipped diction that usually meant someone had learned to speak in a culture that valued refined grammar, which meant not recent culture.

"Which is still outside mundane law enforcement. The supernatural underground should take care of its own, is that what you're saying?"

"I believe it is. If a werewolf kills another werewolf in the course of a pack dominance challenge, do you really want the police to become involved?"

Ouch. Double ouch. But I'd asked for it. That'd teach me to do a show on a personal topic I worried about. Unfortunately, I wasn't the type to backpedal. I read a quote by Churchill once: _If you're going through hell, keep going._

"Let me turn that question back on you: What would you recommend to a police officer who did get involved in an internecine squabble? Let's say a mauled body shows up. The cop looks into it, and in a particular show of brilliance and open-mindedness decides that the attacker couldn't have been an animal and thinks _werewolf_. What's more, he runs a couple of tests and discovers that hey, the victim was a werewolf, too." Maybe O'Sullivan was listening. Maybe we'd both learn something. "What should he do next?"

"Buy lots of silver bullets," Timothy answered without hesitation.

"That is _so_ not helpful." Yikes, I'd said that out loud. I hung up on him. "Okay, moving on. Are you a lycanthrope or a vampire or the like who has had an encounter with the law? What did you do? What's your advice? And as always, any comments on the issues we've been discussing throughout the hour are welcome. Next caller, you're on the air."

"Hi, Alfred. The best and only advice I can give when the cops are after you is run like hell. There's no way the cops can keep up. That's the beauty of it…"

"… if you're going to put vampires and werewolves under the jurisdiction of human law enforcement, then you absolutely need to put vampires and werewolves on the police force…"

Vampire cops? Was she serious? Then again, they'd always have somebody to take the graveyard shift.

The calls kept coming.

"… the same laws don't apply. They never can, they never will. Death and murder don't mean the same thing to people who are immortal and nearly indestructible…"

My head hurt. My callers were making me feel stupid. They kept taking me to the same place, that Mattie was right and I shouldn't talk to the cops anymore. Supernatural _glasnost_ was impossible. I was the stuff that nightmare stories were made of and I should learn to live with it. Or shoot myself with silver.

I wondered what the statistics were on suicide among lycanthropes.

For the last few days, since the incident with Nikolai, I'd really been thinking about me and my Wolf. Thinking about how to coexist with the Wolf and what it meant. Trying to figure out where I stood. I'd shot down Mattie's idea of giving in and never Changing back. But I'd thought about it lots of times before. Could I really find some way to balance myself so that both sides could be happy? Or was the werewolf existence some sort of messed up joke and we just had to live in a constant struggle with this beast in our heads for the rest of our lives? To be honest the whole scenario, just thinking about it, made me a bit depressed.

I said, "True confession time. You know that I do it occasionally, take these questions out of the abstract and talk about how they apply in my own life. And what I'm thinking right now is, what's the point? If these two worlds, the supernatural and human worlds, are destined to be at each other's throats; if there's no way to compromise about things like who has the right to govern whom, then what am I doing here? Why should I even bother doing the show? I'm feeling an impulse to run to the hills and forget I was even human. But you know what? I would miss chocolate. And movies. And the next album by my favorite band. And I'm wondering if this is where the problem is, that lycanthropes and vampires might never technically be fully human, but they used to be, and they can't ever forget it. Or more to the point, they _shouldn't_ ever forget it. When they do is when the problems happen."

The monitor was full of calls. I looked at Antonio through the window, wanting some kind of guidance, not wanting to choose. I didn't want to hear about anyone's problems. I didn't want to hear any more righteous rhetoric from either camp. I just wanted… I didn't know. Maybe to play some music, like in the old days. Maybe I could do that for the next show, get a band on and talk about music for a couple of hours. Yeah, that was a plan.

Antonio was leaning back in his chair, smiling at me. He'd stuck it out with me during the whole run of the show. That smile said he was happy to be here. I couldn't help but smile back. He was my friend, and he was human. That said something.

I straightened and took a breath, making my voice lighter, to drag the show from its depressing low. "All right, it looks like I have a repeat caller on the line. I always appreciate the people who come back for more. Toris, hello."

"Alfred, I just want to tell you how much your show means to me. It's… you're the voice of reason, you know? You actually think these things through. It helps, it really helps. I hope you don't ever stop doing this." His voice sounded even more strained than it had the last time. If the show was helping him, I'd hate to think of what he'd sound like without it.

"Thanks. That means a lot. How are you doing?"

"I've been thinking about it. I think I'm okay. I think I'm doing what I was meant to do. Why else would this have happened to me, if not to be this way and be able to do these things?"

My stomach froze. "Do what things, Toris?"

"I have a confession, Alfred. I didn't much like being human, when I was human. So being a werewolf isn't much different, except I'm strong now. I'm… I know what to do. When I can't decide what to do, the wolf tells me what to do."

Toris was psychotic. He might have been that way before he became lycanthrope. So, what happened when a self-loathing, misanthropic psychotic became a werewolf?

Blood pounded in my ears when I double-checked the monitor. We collected the first names and hometowns from callers. I couldn't remember where he was from. I squinted to read the monitor.

Oh, my God. Denver. He'd been under my nose the whole time.

I covered the mike and hissed at Antonio, mouthing, "Caller ID. Get his number. Now!"

Leaning into the mike, I tried to keep my voice steady, "What does your wolf tell you to do, Toris?"

"You know, Alfred. You know. What does _your_ wolf tell you to do? _You_ understand."

_Use claws. Teeth. Get blood. Run._ Yeah, I understood. But I'd won that battle. It'd been awhile since my Wolf had tried to force it's suggestions on me.

"Do you ever stop to think that your wolf may be wrong?" Because honestly, a wolf doesn't belong in a human society. I'd like to think that my own Wolf understood that, and that's why he's been so compliant with letting me run around out here.

"But the wolf is so much stronger than I am." He said this admiringly, but with a hint of fear I barely picked up.

"Might doesn't make right. That's the whole point of civilization. You called me a voice of reason, Toris. Where does reason come into all of this?"

"I _told_ you. If there's a reason that this happened, then this is it. For me to be strong."

I checked the clock. I still had fifteen minutes to go. I'd never let the show go unfinished. I'd never had a better reason to than right now. But I didn't. I finished. I tried to sound normal, because I didn't want Toris to think anything was wrong.

"Okay, we're going to break for station ID. We'll be right back with _The Midnight Hour_."

I switched off the mike and called to the booth, "Did you get the number?"

"Yeah," Antonio said, walking through the door with a piece of paper in his hand. "And an address. Al, you've gone white. What is it?"

My mouth was dry, and my heart was beating so fast I was shaking. "I don't know yet. Just… let's just finish this up. I have to make a call before we go back on."

Call the police! That was the right thing to do. Except it wasn't because all this shit, the supernatural, the claws and fangs and stuff that made us different, made _right_ different. Maybe that would change someday.

Toris as a wolf wouldn't be a wolf. He wouldn't even be a psychotic human in the shape of a wolf. He'd be a little of both, and while I liked to pretend I had the best of both worlds, Toris seemed to have the worst. A wolf would run away when O'Sullivan faced him down with a gun. Toris would attack. I couldn't call O'Sullivan. She'd be killed. Or infected. I wasn't going to put her in that situation.

Once again, I called Ivan instead of the cops. The shadow law.

"**Yes**?"

"It's Alfred. Feel like going hunting tonight?"

He hesitated for a beat. "I don't know. What kind of hunting is this?" Did he think I was saying a werewolf euphemism or something? He sounded a little flustered.

"I think I've got the rogue who's behind the all the mauling victims."

The serious, hard tone that I was used to back in his voice, he asked, "You call O'Sullivan with this?"

"No. This guy… he called into the show. He's local. He was talking insane. O'Sullivan wouldn't know what to do with him. She'd try to arrest him, and he'd claw her to pieces."

"You don't mind if I get clawed to pieces, then?" A light tone had crawled it's way in.

"I know you can handle it."

"Ah.. thanks, I think." He sounded as if the compliment was unexpected. A pleasant surprise, maybe?

"I want to go with you."

He hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"I'll know his scent from the crime scenes. It's the only way I can tell if this is the guy."

A sigh, then, "Fine. You at work now?"

"Yeah."

"I'll pick you up there." The phone clicked off.

Antonio was standing in the doorway between the booth and the studio. "Al, are you serious?"

"Yeah. You heard the guy. He wasn't talking like he was _going_ to do something. He's already done it. How much time do we have left?"

"I don't know." He had to look back at his board. "Ten minutes?"

I took a couple more calls and spent all my effort trying to sound normal. I couldn't remember what they were about, or what I said. I hoped I sounded normal.

"This is Alfred Jones, Voice of the Night." I signed off with a sigh and listened to my recorded howl.

"Be careful!" Antonio called as I started out of the booth. I grimaced, the best kind of reassuring smile I could manage at the moment. He didn't look reassured. He gripped the doorway, white-knuckled. Wasn't anything I could do about it. As I made my way to the exit of the building, I debated on calling Mattie. On the one hand, the backup would probably be greatly appreciated. On the other… I didn't know how he'd work with Ivan. And I didn't know how he'd react to the rogue. There were so many variables, and… I was a bit scared to involve him. I didn't want anything to happen to him. As stupid as the thought was. But he was the only person I had right now, the only pack I had to speak of. If something happened to Mattie, I'd lose it. I'd throw my humanity away, I wouldn't care anymore. And that was a scary thought. So I didn't call, even though I know I should have.

Ivan pulled up to the curb as I left the front door of the station. He drove a Jeep. Not an SUV, but a real Jeep, like something Frank might have, with mud caking the wheel wells. I got in the passenger side and told him the address. Thank God for the online reverse directory.

We'd driven for about five blocks when he said, "You understand that we have to kill this guy. By not calling the police, by going outside the law, that's the only think we can do. Not arrest him, not talk reason into him, but kill him."

"You were listening to the show." I probably had double the number of listeners the ratings said I had, since no one seemed to want to admit they were listeners.

"You ever kill anyone?" He paused, as if suddenly remembering. "Oh… ah… I mean, besides the incident before." He seemed almost sorry that he'd brought it up, apologetic, but it could have been me imagining things.

"Besides Nikolai, you mean. No." It wasn't even really me that had killed him, but Wolf in my body. But that wasn't really any excuse. I hadn't tried to stop Wolf, I'd been right there in my head with him, and I didn't even think about stopping Wolf.

"Just stay out of the way so I can get a clean shot."

I leaned on the door, holding my forehead in my hand. Vigilantism, that was the word for what we were doing. But the niceties of legal technicalities were slipping away. Four women had been murdered. A werewolf had done it. Someone _had_ to stop him.

Ivan's cell phone beeped. It was jammed into the ashtray, near the stick shift. He grabbed the hands-free wire dangling from it and stuck the earpiece into his ear. It took about six rings. So _that_ was why he always took so long to answer. It was kind of endearing to watch him fumble with it.

"**Yes**?" He waited a minute, then said, "Just a minute."

He covered the mouthpiece part of the wire with his hand. "It's O'Sullivan. She wants to know if I know how to get a hold of you. She wants to talk to you about tonight's show. I guess she was listening."

"Should I tell her?"

"What's the saying? It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission?"

He was right. She'd just get in the way. "I'll call her back when it's all over." As soon as I'd finished calling Mattie, that is. This right here was the whole reason we'd stayed in town so long. It sort of dawned on me a little that after this, we'd really have to leave. For good. Wow.

Ivan uncovered the wire. "Detective? I'll have to get back to you on that… What am I doing? Driving… Yeah, I'll keep in touch." He pulled the wire out of his ear, smirking. "She's an optimist," he said. "That's her problem."

The address was northeast, in a neighborhood of dilapidated houses on the edge of a region of industrial warehouses, oil refineries, and train tracks. It might have been a nice place once, maybe fifty years ago. A few big, old trees lurked in many of the yards. But they were dead, their branches broken, and the yards themselves were overgrown with weeds. The streetlights were all out, but the wash of the sodium floodlights from the warehouses reached here, sickly and orange.

As we pulled onto the street, Ivan turned off the Jeep's headlights and crawled ahead.

"There it is," he said, pointing to a bungalow set back from the road. A fifty-year-old house, maybe three or four rooms. It used to be white, but the paint was peeling, chipping, streaking; the wood of the siding was split and falling apart. Half the shingles were gone.

I rolled down the window. The air smelled of tar, gasoline, concrete. There was some wildness, even here: rats, raccoons, feral cats. This was a dried-up, unpleasant place. The pack had never came here. Why would we, when we had hills and forest, true wilderness, so close by? That was one of the things I liked about Denver. It had all the benefits of a city, but forest and mountains were a short drive away. Why would any wolf- were or otherwise- want to stay in this desolation? If he didn't have any place else to go, I supposed.

Then how had he gotten here in the first place? Werewolves weren't born, they were made. Someone had made him, then left him to fend for himself, and he came here.

Or someone put him here to keep him out of the way, where he wouldn't be found, because pack never came here. No wonder no one had ever found him, even with me and Mattie actively looking for him as well. The place was so unappealing to us, as werewolves ourselves, that we just thought the rogue would think the same.

"You okay?" Ivan asked. "You look like you swallowed a lemon."

"I don't like the way this place smells."

He smiled, but the expression was wry, unfriendly. "Neither do I."

We stepped out of the Jeep. Ivan reached into the back and pulled out a belt holster with his handgun. He strapped it on, then retrieved a rifle. He slung another belt, this one with a heavy pouch attached to it, over his shoulder. I didn't want to know what was in there. We closed the doors quietly and approached the house.

I whispered, "Let me go first. Get the scent, make sure he's the same guy. He might freak out if he sees you first."

"All right," he said, but sounded skeptical. "Just give the word, and I'll come in shooting."

Why didn't that make me feel better?

I walked a little faster, moving ahead. A light shone in horizontal lines through the blinds over the front window of the house. I tilted my head, listening. A voice sounded inside, low and scratchy- a radio, tuned to KNOB. The show had been over only a half an hour or so. I reached the walkway and followed it to the front door. Ivan was a couple of steps behind me. I tried to look through the front window, but the slanted blinds were mostly closed.

I put my hand on the knob, turned it. It was unlocked. I took my hand away. I didn't want to surprise anyone inside. So I knocked.

Ivan stepped off the walkway and stood against the wall of the house, out of sight of the door. And, by chance, downwind of the door. Or maybe not by chance.

I waited forever. Well, for a long time. I didn't want to go into the house. But no one answered. Maybe he'd left. Maybe he was out killing someone. If I went in, at least I would get a scent. I'd know if it was the same guy I'd smelled at the murder sites.

I opened the door and went inside.

The hardwood floor of the front room was scarred and pitted, like dozens of generations of furniture had been moved back and forth across it, and several swarms of children had been raised on it. But that was long ago, in someone else's life. An old TV sat on the floor in one corner. The radio was on top of it. It might have been Roderich, the night DJ, calling the last set. A sofa that would have looked at home on the porch of a frat house sat in the middle of the floor. Wasn't much else there. A box overflowing with trash occupied another corner. The walls were bare of decoration, stained splotchy brown and yellow. I wondered what this guy did for a living. If anything. There was no evidence of life here. Just a place, sad, decayed, and temporary.

I took a deep breath through my nose.

I didn't identify the smell so much as I flashed on the scene. The blood. The victim's body, splayed across the alley. People say scent is tied to memory. What does that mean for a werewolf, whose sense of smell is so acute? The memory sparked vividly, all the sights and sounds and other smells that I'd imprinted along with the scent of the werewolf, the murderer. My stomach turned with the same nausea.

Straight ahead, a hall led to the rest of the house, probably kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. A sudden gush of water ran through the house's pipes. A toilet flushing. A door opened and closed. A man emerged into the hallway and walked toward me.

He wore a plain white T-shirt and faded jeans. His build didn't immediately scream werewolf- he was scrawnier than I was, more wiry. But that didn't mean he didn't have strength. All werewolves did. He had chin length mousy brown hair that looked unwashed, his skin clammy and pale. He was barefoot. He smelled the same as the room, close and ripe. Sick. Like death.

He stopped when he saw me. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent like a werewolf would. His hands clenched. Glaring, he moved toward me, stalking like a predator.

I stood straight, careful not to flinch, not to show any weakness that his wolf would take as an invitation to attack.

I said, "Are you Toris?"

Again he stopped, as if he'd hit a wall. His brow furrowed, his face showing confusion. "What did you say?"

It was him. That voice, low and strained, close to breaking. "Toris. Are you Toris?"

He squinted harder, like he was trying to bring me to focus. Then his eyes grew wide.

"You're _him._ Alfred." He closed the distance between us, and I thought he was going to pounce on me with a bear hug, but he halted a step away- I didn't quite flinch. He was gesturing with his hands like he was pleading. "I'm such a big fan!"

"Thanks," I said weakly. I should have yelled. Just yelled and ducked as Ivan came storming through the door, guns blazing. But Toris had stunned me.

Toris didn't ask questions I would have asked a celebrity who happened to show up at my house, like 'how did you find me', 'why are you here'. He acted like he didn't find this strange at all, like this sort of occurrence was a natural part of the life he'd made for himself. The kind of life where he constantly made calls to late-night talk radio shows.

He slouched, ducking in front of me like he was bowing. He was a good few centimeters shorter than me, so it made him look even smaller. Coupled with his wiry frame, he looked like the type of kid that would get bullied or something. He was showing submission, one wolf to another. He kept turning his gaze away. His instincts were taking over.

I stared. Not a dominant, I'm-a-bigger-wolf-than-you stare. More like a bewildered, disturbed stare. What was I supposed to do with him? I didn't want him touching me, but he was inching closer like he was going to start pawing me, rubbing me, the way a subordinate wolf would to the one he'd identified as the alpha. I stepped back.

He cringed, pulling his arms close to his body, his eyes sad and hurt. "You don't understand," he said, "This… this is great. It's what I've always wanted. You can help me. You're the only other one… one of us, one like us, I mean… that I've ever met. The only people that visit me are-" He stopped, swallowing. His breathing came fast.

"Who, Toris? Who visits you?" My voice caught.

"The ones that made me…" his voice was low, like he was afraid of being overheard, "I barely remember… I don't know, I never knew who did it but I was turned and then suddenly they were there. The doctors the ones that monitor me. They want my wolf to take over, they want to see what happens. They want the pieces to merge together." He sounded small, frantic and confused. "I don't know how. All I know is that the wolf is so much stronger, and he grew… he grew from a whisper to such a loud, loud voice, shouting at me. I barely keep control. He tells me what he wants, what to do, and I do it."

I felt so sick. Toris… God, Toris needed help. I'd never encountered anything like this, where the wolf was so cognizant inside the person's body that they could learn to manipulate and control. Did that mean that the wolf's consciousness could evolve… It scared me how much it could start to become this large, corroding shadow, that it could break down Toris's mind like this… bleeding in its killer instincts until it became more like a serial killer than a wolf. And Toris… he couldn't do anything to stop it. It sounded like he wasn't even getting the choice. Who was it that was running these test on him, and for what purpose? 'They want the pieces to merge together'? What did that even mean? His consciousness and the wolf's? My head pounded in my skull. This… this was so much more than I was expecting.

"No… wait… there might have been… yes. One, one other that was like us. He came here when the doctors were here. I never could catch all of what they were saying. I'd only seen him once. But I did hear when they got angry and yelled, the last time. They said something about finding someone… to fight them and test them. I… still don't understand…" He winced and put a hand to his head like it hurt.

One other…? An attack? I shuddered as I thought of the fight I'd had with Nikolai. Were these events related? I couldn't possibly understand with what little information that Toris could tell me.

What had these people… 'doctors' told him? What could anyone do? What could I do? That was the human talking, of course. I remembered Ivan's words: _You understand that we have to kill this guy_. What had been done to him couldn't be reversed, he was beyond help. But even still…

As a wolf, he'd overstepped his bounds. Like Nikolai. But what did that mean if there'd been no one to teach him the rules?

Toris looked up, over my shoulder. Ivan stood in the doorway.

"Jones, is he the one?"

All I could do was nod.

Ivan raised his arm, fired his handgun.

I ducked out of the way. Toris was already running. I thought he would turn around, try to make for the back of the house. That's what I would have done. But he dived forward, under the range of the gun, past Ivan, shouldering him aside, and out the door.

Ivan struck the door frame, but recovered in a heartbeat, turned outside, and fired twice more. His arm remained steady, his sight aimed at his target, tracking smoothly like he was mounted on a tripod.

"**Shit**!" He pointed the gun up when Toris disappeared around the corner of the house.

In a split second I ran after him, aware that he might have been waiting on the other side of the house to ambush whoever followed him. I didn't want to lose sight of him. Ivan was right behind me.

In the strip of yard between the two houses a trail of clothing led away: jeans, briefs, and a white T-shirt, torn to shreds. Shit, his wolf… this was a whole different ball-game now. There was a dark, wild odor- the musk, fur, and sweat of a recently shifted lycanthrope. Toris's wolf was crazy… There was no other way.

I unzipped my jeans and shoved them to the ground.

"W-what are you doing?" asked Ivan, honestly surprised and caught off-guard, stopping in his tracks.

I paused. I didn't know if I could do this… but I didn't have a choice.

"I can move faster if I Change. It's the only way I'll keep up." It can be a strength, I'd told Mattie. It's time to see just how well this strength really worked.

He opened his mouth, starting to argue. But he didn't say anything. His shoulders slumped, and he looked away as I started to strip again. I almost thought I saw pink on his face. I took off my shirt, my briefs. The air was cold, sending goosebumps crawling across my skin. Inside, I felt warm. My muscles tensed, already preparing to run, because I knew what this meant; Wolf knew what this meant. I wanted to hunt, and I needed him. I was ready. Wolf crouched inside, filling me with anticipation.

Ivan started to walk away.

"Wait," I said. "I want you to watch."

"Why?" He said, voice rough and slightly alarmed.

"I want you to see what I look like so you don't shoot me by accident." I wasn't too keen on that.

"If I ever shoot you, it won't be on accident," he said, putting on more force behind the words, as if they were a barrier between him and my embarrassing state of dress.

I walked up to him, naked and unself-conscious. As a werewolf, you got used to having to throw your clothes off at a moment's notice, around other people. Even if they were usually just pack. I was on the edge of my other world, human morals falling away. I didn't know how else to be, like this, with Wolf looking out of my eyes, staring at Ivan curiously.

I took a step away, holding his gaze. My eyes were probably gold by now, but I had no way of telling.

"Here's your chance. If that's what you're planning, get it over with now so I don't have to keep looking over my shoulder."

I didn't know how long I planned on waiting for him to raise that gun and shoot me in the head. I stood, arms spread, offering myself to him. My glare didn't match my vulnerability. But once and for all, I had to know what he wanted to do.

Finally, he swallowed and said, "Be careful."

"Yeah. You too." I turned away, walking to the back of the alley.

"Don't try to fight him, Alfred. We don't know what he's capable of. Just find him, and I'll take care of it."

I nodded.

Holding Wolf back felt a little like holding my breath. As soon as I thought of shifting to Wolf, the Change started, sensations coursing with my blood, waking those nerves and instincts that lay buried most of the time. Any time except full moon nights, I could hold it back. But if I wanted to shift, I just had to let that breath out, think of exhaling, and the next breath would belong to Wolf.

My back bent, the first convulsion racking me. Think of water, let it slide, and fur sprouted in waves down my back and arms, needles piercing skin. I grunted, blocking the pain. Then claws, then teeth and bones and muscle-

_He shakes, ruffling his fur and slipping into his muscles._

_Wolf's ears prick, and he raises his head to see the figure nearby. He stands on two legs and smells of danger, mechanical pain and burning silver. Wolf recognizes the weapons that can kill him._

_Alfred recognizes the man, and sooths Wolf, keeping his hackles flat and stopping the growls. Not the enemy. Friend. He is part of Alfred's pack, but not part of Wolf's pack like Mattie is. Wolf understands._

_"Jones?"_

_Tension, anxiety, fear. Wolf can take him, kill him if he has to. He's weak. But those weapons are stronger. They smell of fire._

_"You in there? You know who I am?"_

_The tone is questioning, seeking reassurance. His anxiety isn't because of Wolf, but because there's another danger. The other one, the rogue, the outcast. Wolf remembers._

_Now identified as Alfred's pack, Wolf wags his tail at Ivan. Yes, Alfred called him that. Ivan._

_"__**Christ, I can't believe I'm doing this**__."_

_He says this to Wolf's back, because he's already running._

_Wolf seeks the one who has invaded his territory, caused havoc, broken the code. He's run far ahead, but the night is still, the ground is clear, and Wolf can smell him, chase him, like a rabbit. With his nose close to the ground, Wolf's legs racing, his muscles flowing, close to flying, Wolf will find him. His mouth hangs open a little, tongue tasting the air._

_Closer, Wolf gets closer. A turn up ahead. Wolf feels a thrill because the rogue's trying to confuse him, to make Wolf lose him, but Wolf isn't fooled. Stretching full-out, running hard, he turns the corner._

_The rogue is waiting for him._

_He strikes, tumbling into Wolf from the side. Wolf doesn't have time to stop or swerve. He lays his paws on Wolf, clamps his teeth around Wolf's throat, and they roll in a tangle of legs. Snarls, driven from the belly and guttural, echo._

_Wolf's speed carries him away, sends Wolf rolling out of his grasp and away from his teeth, but Wolf is dazed. He shakes his head. The rogue doesn't hesitate, springing to his feet and leaping at Wolf again. Wolf braces, his lips pulled tight from bared teeth. When rogue is about to reach, Wolf rears to meet him, their front legs locking around each other's shoulders, teeth snapping at whatever purchase they can find._

_He's a bit smaller than Wolf, but Wolf can sense past the wildness a cold, calculated predator different from other wolves encountered before. The rogue gives an impressive shove, catching Wolf off guard; Wolf falls on his back, and the rogue lurches on top of Wolf, Wolf's throat and belly exposed. Wolf writhes, kicking, desperate to protect himself. The other bites hard, catching Wolf on his upper foreleg, and Wolf yelps. The noise of pain spurs Wolf to frenzy. _

_Wolf arches forward, closes his teeth under the rogue's jaw, bites hard. Taste of blood. The rogue cringes back, and Wolf twists to his feet, is up and running. A memory of hate and wrongness surfaces. The other, the rogue has no right to do this. He is outcast. The rogue's scent triggers memories of the corpses and death. The rogue took the prey that is forbidden. The rogue must be punished. Alfred knows this, and so Wolf knows. The hate surges forward. The rogue has invaded, takes what is not his. Rogue attacks Alfred and Wolf. He will kill Alfred and Wolf._

_Wolf will not let him. _

_The other voice, the day self, the human, Alfred says: we are stronger, together. We are better. His eyes. Tear his face._

_The rogue jumps, clawing at Wolf's back end. He climbs, gnawing Wolf's fur and the tough skin of Wolf's shoulder, looking for the soft parts, for the chance to rip into Wolf. His weight presses down on Wolf pinning him. Wolf waits until he comes close, until his face is at Wolf's neck. Then Wolf attacks._

_Jaws open, he lunches. The rogue's muzzle is turned down, buried in Wolf's hackles. Wolf slams into the top of the rogue's face with a strong brute force, as hard as he can. Surprised, rogue pulls back. Released from the weight, Wolf's sinewy body twists back on itself. Wolf mashes his mouth into the rogue's face, searching for purchase, chewing, doubling his effort when his teeth find soft targets, when he can feel the flesh popping, shredding._

_The rogue squeals, scrambling backward. Wolf will not let go; the rogue is dragging Wolf with him by the grip Wolf has on his face, Wolf's canines hooked into his eye sockets. Wolf's snarls sound like a roar._

_The rogue bows, head low to the ground, and swats at Wolf with his forelegs, like he is trying to scrape mud off his face. His claws slash Wolf's face; the pain barely registers. He has made himself lower than Wolf, has exposed himself. Has shown fear._

_Opening his mouth, Wolf dives at his throat so fast the rogue doesn't even have time to flinch._

_Wolf gnaws, breaking skin. Blood erupts into his mouth, washes warm down his muzzle. When Wolf finds a firm grasp, he shakes, worries, mauls, back and forth as much as he can. The rogue's front swings with the strength of Wolf's ferocious shaking. Wolf has a piece of him, and it's Wolf's, and the blood flows hot and fast. The thick taste of it makes Wolf dizzy, ecstatic._

_The rogue struggles fade to a reflexive kicking, then nothing._

_Blood covers the rogue's neck and chest, and Wolf's own face, neck, and chest. Wolf licks his muzzle, then he licks the rogue, burying his nose in the wound he made. Wolf keeps growling as he digs into him. Bites, rips, gnaws, swallows._

_The body under him is shifting as he feeds. The fur shrinks to naked skin, the muscles melt, the bones reform, until he is digging into the neck of a human body._

_"Jones!"_

_Crack, a sound like thunder bursts, with a smell like fire. He recoils, springing to stand a foot away from where he was, to assess the danger. His nostrils quiver._

_The man, Ivan, the dangerous one, the friend, stands there, arm pointing up, hand holding the source of the burning smell. The silver. The weapon._

_"Alfred!" he shouts and stomps toward him, radiating a fierce challenge. Wolf trots a couple of steps away and circles back, staring. Does he mean it? For some reason it upsets Wolf at the thought of Ivan wanting to fight. Wolf recognizes these as Alfred's feelings. Alfred does not like the feeding that Wolf has done on the rogue. Wolf is a bit sorry for upsetting Alfred, so he does not think he will feed on the rogue anymore. _

_Pounding human footsteps travel toward them. More of them arrive, smelling of weapons, anxiety, danger. They are pointing at Wolf. _

_The man yells, "O'Sullivan, hold your fire! It's Alfred!"_

_There are so many of them. Too many. Wolf doesn't want to fight. Forbidden prey. Bad prey. The weapons make Wolf's skin crawl._

_He runs._

_He runs for a long distance, until the world is quiet the smells are peaceful. He searches for trees, shelter, comfortable scents, finds none of these. He's far from home, doesn't know this place._

_A patch of dry ground in the corner between two walls makes an uncomfortable den. He is hurt- aches and scratches in his face, leg, and shoulders, a sharp pain in his back. He needs rest. He misses Mattie. There should be Mattie here. There should be Mattie, for him to feel safe. Alfred is in the back of his mind comforting him. 'You did well, it hurts but it's going to be ok.' Wolf thinks he likes Alfred talking to him like this, soothing. Wolf wags his tail weakly. Alfred's presence brings solace where it hadn't before, and it lessens the loneliness. Wolf wishes Mattie were here with them._

_All he can do for now is curl tight around himself, snuggled in the corner of the den._

* * *

_Well, well. That's the end of the chapter. So, what did you think? The rogue has finally been taken care of. We're close to nearing the end of our first story arc here. It won't be much longer... maybe one more chapter. Are you excited? I sure am. You'll have to tune in next Friday for more!_


	8. Act I Part VIII

_Hey guys! Welcome to the last chapter of this arc of Midnight Hour. When the next chapter rolls in, it will be the mark of the beginning of a new arc for Alfred's adventure! I just feel like making a distinction of separation, because this chapter just sort of ties up the rest of Alfred's stay in Denver. I was going to make it a super special 'midnight upload' or whatever, but I'm a bit late on that, aren't I? Oh well... Onward my friends! Any and all support is so greatly appreciated! _

* * *

_Part Eight_

Sirens woke me.

I tried to stretch and moved about an inch before pain froze me. I groaned. I felt totally hung over. It was still pitch dark out, middle of the night, which meant I hadn't slept very long. I needed more time to sleep and recover from shifting back from the Wolf before I'd feel decent.

I bent my elbow enough to pillow my head. I was curled up in the corner formed by a brick wall and a wooden fence. I had no idea where I was. But I heard sirens. Police, ambulance.

I remembered enough of the last hour or so to not be entirely confused. I licked my teeth and tasted the blood. Blood still coated my mouth. I curled up tighter, squeezing shut my eyes.

Footsteps crunched up the gravel alleyway.

"Jones. You awake?"

For all my earlier lack of modesty, I know felt thoroughly naked. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged myself, covering myself as much as I could.

The footsteps stopped. I looked. A few steps away, Ivan knelt. He offered me a blanket. When I tried to reach for it, I felt a cut open across my back. Wincing, I hissed.

He put the blanket over my shoulders, and with his hands under my arms, helped me sit up. I wrapped the blanket tight around me.

"You found me," I said.

"You were trailing blood."

I nodded. I could feel it caked on my face and neck. I hadn't even looked at my injuries yet. The wounds I got as a wolf transferred. They hadn't had enough time to heal. They itched.

I tasted blood. Blood in my mouth, in the back of my throat. I could taste it on my breath, all the way down to my stomach.

I choked, unable to hold back a sob, and my stomach quailed. It was Nikolai all over again, but this time I'd actually… eaten a part of my assailant. I pulled away from Ivan and vomited. It was purplish. It had chunks. After a couple of waves, and a couple more dry heaves, I could take a breath and start to think of what had happened. I rested my head against the brick, which was cool and rough.

"Big bad werewolf, eh?" Ivan said with a half-grin.

"That's me," I said weakly.

"I told you not to fight him."

"It was self-defense, Officer."

"Can you stand?"

I thought about it, taking a couple more deep breaths while I assessed myself. I thought I could stand. I tried. I got my legs under me, but when I put weight on them, they shook. When I tipped, starting to fall, Ivan caught me.

I cried. I pulled close into myself and cried, gritting my teeth to stop the sound, embarrassed that I couldn't stop the sobs shuddering through me. I hugged my arms around my head, all the hiding I was able to do.

Ivan held me. He didn't pet me or make silly comforting noises. He just held me, halfway on his lap, bracing me.

Eventually, the crying stopped. The trembling stilled. My eyes squinted, swollen. I hiccupped, trying to fill my exhausted lungs. I didn't feel any better after crying my heart out. But I did feel ready to fall asleep without having nightmares.

Sometimes, especially in my early months as a werewolf, I had dreams where I was covered with blood, running through the forest, killing things, happy to be doing it. Sometimes I couldn't remember if they were dreams or not.

"You okay?"

"I don't know," I said, my voice small. I rubbed my face, which was gritty with dirt and grime. Everything was blurry without my glasses. I vaguely wished I had got Mattie to tag along, if only to have him here to hand my glasses to me like he always did. He just seemed to have a knack for finding wherever I misplaced them.

"Come on. I'll drive you home." He started to stand, and this time when I put weight on my legs, they held me. Ivan kept his hand under my arm, just in case.

The blanket reached down to my knees. I walked gingerly; my feet were bare and the alley was covered with broken glass and metal bits. I watched my feet and wasn't paying attention to much else. When Ivan stopped, I looked up.

Detective O'Sullivan stood there. She turned and said something to the half-dozen uniformed cops trailing behind her. Reluctantly, the backed away. All of them had their guns out.

O'Sullivan tucked her gun into a belt holster. She crossed her arms, regarding us like she was a high school teacher who'd caught a couple of kids necking behind the bleachers. Or maybe it was just that I felt like one of those kids.

She said, "I've got a body back there with its face ripped off. Why do I get the feeling if I check the guy's DNA, I'll get a match with the suspect's evidence from my mauling victims?"

I swallowed. My throat was still raw from throwing up and trying not to cry. "You will."

Her face took on a pained, annoyed expression. "Does this happen often? Werewolves slaughtering each other for no apparent reason?"

"Oh, there's always a reason," I said. realizing how bad that sounded, I looked away. "No, it doesn't happen often. Within a pack, only when power struggles happen. But this wasn't a pack thing."

"Huh. And I thought police internal affairs was tough."

I glanced at Ivan. His expression was a mask, inscrutable. I was sure he hadn't called the cops. I said, "How did you know where to go?"

"Your sound guy called me."

"Antonio. Bastard," I muttered. I thought he knew better than to get mixed up in supernatural rumbles. Even still, I knew he was just concerned about me. Normal people called the cops, I remembered.

"Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want you to get hurt."

"I'm touched. Really, I am. Do you have any idea how I'm supposed to write this up? What am I supposed to do with _you_?"

I shrugged, wincing when the cut on my back split again. I was going to have to lie still for a good hour if I wanted it to heal. "Should I call my lawyer?"

She stared hard at me, like she was trying to peel back my skin. My shoulders bunched. If she'd been a wolf, I'd have taken her stare as a challenge. I looked at my feet and tried to seem harmless, small, and inconsequential, metaphorical tail between my legs. Wolf seemed terribly amused, and it surprised me a little to feel his thoughts, consciousness so close to mine.

Wolf always seemed to have this space in the far back of my brain that he hid to whenever it wasn't full moon, or when there wasn't something that particularly roused him from that place. Still close enough to be able to leap out at a moment's notice, but hardly close. But I could only guess it was because of how I'd chosen to try and remain close after the last Change we endured. I remembered speaking to him, wondering if Wolf could hear me. I could feel his calm when I spoke to him as he lay hurt. Maybe… just maybe, he didn't want to be alone in my brain anymore. I didn't quite know how I felt about that.

O'Sullivan tipped her chin up, a sort of decisive half-nod.

"I saw dogs fighting. That's all I saw. But for God's sake, _call_ me next time."

She walked away.

Ivan had my clothes in the passenger seat of his Jeep. I was pleasantly surprised to find my glasses perched atop the pile. I put them on, but still kept the blanket around me. I was cold.

He stopped the Jeep in front of my apartment building and shut off the engine. I had to work up to moving, taking a deep breath because I knew how much it was going to hurt.

When I gripped the handle of the door, Ivan said, "You need me to come in with you?"

The question was laden with meaning and unspoken assumptions. We weren't exactly a couple on a first date, testing the waters to see if the evening was going to go on a little longer, him wondering if I would invite him, me wondering if I should. But there was a little of that. Maybe he wanted a second chance. Maybe I wanted him to have a second chance. I had to decide how hurt I was- but if I was hurt enough to need help, I was probably too hurt to give him that second chance. Maybe he was just trying to be nice. But why would he be trying to be nice if he didn't want a second chance?

Or, most likely, I was reading too much into it. My head hurt, and I needed a shower. And sleep. Which meant no second chance. But… he had stopped the engine, like he really wanted to come inside. And, maybe, even if there was no second chance, we could at least work on being friends. His scent and presence comforted me. Maybe… he could stay, just for a moment.

"I'll be okay." His grip on the steering wheel seemed to tighten, or was that just me? "But… you could come in for awhile. At least until I fall asleep. I'm _really_ tired." And this time, I could visually see him relax.

"I understand. It has been hard for you, that much I can tell. I…" he hesitated, "I just don't think I could be entirely comfortable just leaving you, after all that has happened. I will stay just until I can make sure you will be all right." He was trying to make it sound like he was doing it out of some sense of duty, but a glint in his eye told me that he may have been concerned about my well-being. It was enough to make my chest feel warm.

I opened the door and eased myself to the sidewalk. Ivan exited his side of the Jeep and rounded over to my side with ill-concealed worry. He must have been _really_ concerned if he was having such trouble hiding it. I could probably walk by myself with only minor difficulty, but I indulged in letting him lead me to the door, if only because I liked the attention, and he was just so adorable with how he tried to mask his fretting.

The scent of Mattie was fresh. I reeled with guilt because I had yet to call him and I _really_ needed to. But when I opened the door, I found I didn't have to. He was right there, pacing, looking on the verge of jumping out of his own skin. He started at the door opening, and his eyes seemed to hone straight to me.

"Oh, God, Alfred! Do you have any idea what I've been through these last couple of hours? No note, no call. You could have at least had the decency to leave a note! What happened?" His eyes flickered to Ivan warily. I gently tugged away from him to get closer to Mattie. He wasted no time in gathering me up in a bear hug. I winced a little for my back, the wound re-opening for the third time. Mattie could smell everything on me, he practically buried his nose in the crook of my neck and shoulder. He released me from his hug, but kept his hands on my shoulders, eyeing me up and down.

"Tell me what happened now. Everything." I nodded, moving to the futon. Mattie followed me immediately. Ivan stood in the doorway awkwardly.

"You can join us, Ivan. It's okay. Mattie won't do anything, I promise. He's the one that stayed with me after I broke from my pack."

Ivan closed the door behind him, but hesitated to move to the futon. "I see. He is the one that helped you before. I have bumped into him other times I've been here."

"I've been wondering who you were," Mattie spoke, the humor in his voice barely discernible underneath his nerves.

"He's okay, Mattie. He helped me a lot tonight." I launched into recounting everything that had transpired from the conversation I had with Toris on the show and afterwards, leaving out nothing. Mattie deserved to know everything. When I was done, he fixed me with a piercing stare.

"This was so completely dangerous, Alfred! Especially after what had just happened with Nikolai. You should have called me, brought me with you."

"I know, Mattie, I know. But I was… really scared about you getting hurt. You're the only person I have. And after our talk about… running away and never Changing back…" I fell silent, my eyes moving to stare down at the floor.

"Alfred, no matter what, I'm still pack. And as much as I'm the only person you have, you're the only person I have too. We're pack, Alfred. We stick together, we handle our problems _together_." His voice was stern, but not harsh. He understood my reasons, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. I understood too.

"I'm sorry, Mattie. I know I should have called." He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I leaned my head onto his. His touch grounded me so much. Ivan swallowed audibly beside us.

"If that's all, I'll be leaving now." He made to stand up, but I grabbed his wrist before he could fully eject himself from his seat.

"You don't have to leave," I spoke, "I guess it must be kinda weird to watch me and Mattie have a bro-fest over here, but… well… he's my brother. My pack." I gave him a reassuring smile. "I really need to shower, but if you two can behave yourselves and make civilized conversation until I return, that'd be great." Mattie smiled widely at me, and Ivan did sit back down, reluctantly quirking his lips up a bit.

In the bathroom, I stripped quickly, wanting to get clean. The skin over my entire body itched. I smelled like the bad part of town, blood, sweat. Much like the night I fought Nikolai, I scrubbed over myself hard. Some cuts that still hadn't healed fully shut stung with the soap and the force of my scrubbing, but the pain just made me feel more… there. I listened to the sound of the shower and my breathing. Wolf's consciousness brushed against mine and it… it was comforting. I appreciated the gesture. I felt a little more at peace in my own skin than I had before. When I stepped out, I dried off slowly and deliberately, looking over my wounds and just basking in the simple feel of the towel over my skin. Before I did anything else after drying, I decided what I really needed was to brush my teeth. I brushed my teeth five times. Flossed twice. Didn't look too closely at the bits I spat out.

After dressing I meandered back into my living/bedroom to find Mattie and Ivan talking animatedly about… hockey of all things. I knew just enough about hockey to identify that it was, indeed, what they were discussing. Mattie had tried to get me into watching it once. I haven't watched it since. I leaned on the wall and smiled until they finally noticed me. Ivan, surprisingly was the first, but then again, he was facing the direction I'd come from. Mattie was too excited to focus on anything else but speaking.

"You two seem to be having fun, should I go take another shower and give you guys another minute?" I snickered. Mattie turned around, affronted.

"Just because you have no interest doesn't mean that everyone doesn't," he huffed. I flopped down on the futon, face first.

"Well, I'm tired. So feel free to continue whatever it is you two are doing while I sleep for the next day or two." Mattie sighed at Alfred's dramatics, but went to lay beside him all the same. Ivan sat there, unsure of what exactly he should do. I tried to speak, but my eyes were already too heavy for me to open anymore. Too relaxed with Mattie beside me, and his and Ivan's scent so close, I drifted to slumber.

"You can stay with us, if you want," the one named Matthew said to me. It was… odd, how close he and Alfred were, but I understood about pack dynamics and how much it meant for werewolves to be close and comfort each other. I understood their intimacy was due to a strong bond of friendship and brotherhood. After all, how good of a hunter could I really be if I didn't understand all aspects pertaining to those I hunted? But even then, those I hunted were usually the dangerous rogue types. Even if I was familiar with their ways, I wasn't so close to werewolves that I saw this type of behavior all the time. I felt a twinge of discomfort with such open displays. I wasn't used to such things.

"I do not wish to intrude. I must be leaving soon, in any case." Matthew shook his head, and fixed me with a stare.

"That's not what I meant. Alfred… he really seems to like you, if he was willing to leave you alone in the same room with me. He really trusts you," Matthew hesitated, and then, "You know we've split from the pack we were with before. We'll be leaving now that the rogue is gone. It's the only reason we've stayed so long. We'll leave this town and we probably won't come back. Not for a very long time. I know you're a hunter. You travel a lot, it's part of your job. I'm just saying that we could go the same way for awhile."

I stayed silent for a few beats, unsure of what I should say. It was an unexpected offer, to say the least. I didn't quite understand why Matthew was even asking. He must have sensed my confusion.

"I understand how weird this is, but you did a lot for us today. For Alfred. You were there, and you took care of him and made sure he was ok when I couldn't. Not only do I feel indebted to you, but also, maybe if you were around, Alfred wouldn't feel the need to try and run off and do things by himself. He gets into so much trouble, and I don't deny that I really need all the help I can get in looking after him."

"You would willingly let a hunter travel with you?" I asked.

"You haven't done anything to Alfred as long as you've been interacting with him," Matthew pointed out.

"When we first met, I was fully intending to kill him."

"But you didn't, did you?" Matthew was staring straight into my eyes, silently reminding me exactly what he would do to me if I had actually harmed Alfred that day.

"Besides, it's as much a danger for you as it is for us. We _are_ two full grown werewolves. Even if you managed to take one of us by surprise, I'm sure that you couldn't manage to kill both of us without either getting seriously injured, killed, or turned yourself." Matthew brought up a very fair point.

"How long do I have to consider before you both leave town?"

"Until tomorrow." I winced internally. That wasn't very long. Not that there really should be anything to consider. Traveling around with two werewolves? That was such an outlandish concept. But it also thrilled me. Though it was my family that forced me into this, I did not hunt for the sake of hunting. I hunted because knowing that you've pitted yourself against a foe much stronger than you, having to struggle and claw your way to victory, knowing that it was your life or theirs, your will against theirs. It was that excitement that drove me. And if I died, I would rather it be because I struggled to the last breath and drove something so powerful to such desperation, and nothing less would be any satisfaction.

I couldn't deny that though the answer should have been obvious, I had trouble deciding one way or the other. I glanced down to Alfred. He was something of a puzzle to me. I hadn't really ever encountered anyone quite like him before. His ideals were naïve, but also refreshing.

"And what would you do when I have a mark?"

"You'd have a mark. It's none of our business. Besides, it isn't a mark unless it's causing serious trouble, right?"

"That was not the case with Alfred." Matthew's eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Then we could help you. Help make sure the marks deserve to be marks."

"I did not get in this business for guessing if marks are deserving or not. And besides, Natalya handles all of the legal proceedings to ensure contracts are followed back to their sources should any… incidents occur."

"And yet, for the case of Alfred, there was a go between who would have taken the fall instead, and Alfred was completely innocent of wrong-doing. On top of that, it took the help of one vampire close to Francis who was Alfred's friend to trace it back to Francis, and Alfred was the one who chose to give you the information and help you out. Yes, Alfred told me all about how Gilbert helped him in regards to finding out who got all the incriminating evidence of him being a werewolf." Ivan had to admit, Matthew was very good at making a point. Natalya would like him, Ivan was sure.

"Not to mention it'd be easier to get in with the supernatural crowd with Alfred's reputation and the fact we're werewolves. To some extent, at least. But it's better than not having us around."

I sighed, knowing that Matthew had too many good points to argue along this vein any further.

"You would turn me into a 'law abiding hunter' then?" Matthew shrugged.

"It was only a suggestion. I'm only saying this because Alfred would probably like to have you around, but it doesn't mean that you have to come with us. I'm sure, as good a hunter as you are, that it wouldn't be hard for you to find work elsewhere. I just think that a guy with your talents would be beneficial to keep around." I couldn't blame Matthew for his arguments. He was looking out for his pack, and he knows the value of safety in numbers and knows from my dealings with Alfred that I've proven not to be a threat.

I closed my eyes in thought. This wasn't something to be considered lightly. Matthew had made good points, but those points only appealed to morality. And being a hunter for as long as I've been, you learned to take killings in stride, no matter if they were justified or not. A contract was a contract. Alfred's was the first of its kind, however. There was a reason I didn't usually make time to actually speak with a target before killing. But just as Alfred had pointed out in their first encounter, law-abiding werewolves and vampires weren't worth the effort, because they were hard to track and not worth the risk. Alfred had practically been the first ever that I had not believed really deserved his mark. If it were any other hunter but me, Alfred probably wouldn't be here. But that was all in the past now.

I exhaled loudly and steadily. "I think I will go back to my hotel room. I will more carefully consider your offer there." I stood from Alfred's futon and made strides towards the front door.

"Hey, Ivan," Matthew called. I turned halfway around to regard him. "Thank you. Thank you for helping Alfred."

I nodded my head to him. "Just tell him that he owes me now."

I woke to sunlight streaming on my face, and Mattie's soothing presence curled beside me. I stretched languidly, my shoulders popping from having not moved for so long. Mattie stirred beside me and I smiled.

"Well, let's get everything squared away and over with then," I spoke to him, feeling refreshed and ready to just leave and not look back. So much had happened, and it just felt right to start someplace new, where no one knew who I was.

Mattie went home to gather his things, and I myself packed all I thought was necessary. I made a call to the radio station and spoke to Eliza about transfers.

"I know you've been bringing it up to me for awhile about moving out of town, but are you really sure, Al?" Eliza asked me, concerned.

"Yeah, Eliza. I'm pretty sure. It's… just kinda personal. I just feel like I need to get out and go somewhere new, you know?" I explained.

"Well, I'm not gonna stop you if it's what you really want. But make sure to give me a call sometimes, yeah? We've got to keep in touch!" I reassured her that I'd be fine where ever I decided to go and that of course we were going to speak again. On a regular basis, in fact. She gave the phone over to Antonio.

"So it's really happening now, huh Al? Not gonna be the same without you around, that's for sure."

"I'm sure you'll manage just fine, Toni. You're still talking to Gil, aren't you?" There was a loud chuckle on the other end.

"Yeah, the guy is totally awesome. Much cooler than I actually expected him to be."

"Well, I'm glad you guys made such good friends and all. I'll get back to you guys once I've figured out where I'm going and all that. Later."

"Okay, man, later. Take it easy." It felt good talking to Antonio and Elizaveta. They were good friends, and I appreciated them.

I swung by Yao's defense class studio and spoke my goodbyes to him. He'd been a good mentor to me, and I couldn't just skip town without saying anything to him.

"Keep practicing even after you leave!" He encouraged me.

"Don't worry, Yao, I will."

Felicia almost burst into tears when I told her I was moving. She ran up to me and practically leaped on me, enveloping me in a tight hug. Wolf bristled at the unexpected contact, but quickly established that Felicia was no threat.

"Oh, Alfred! I hope you like it where you move! I'm going to miss not being able to give you any food!" Felicia had gotten into the habit of cooking things for the class to take home every time we met up, though it was usually some sort of pasta dish.

"I'm gonna miss the food too. Your cooking is amazing," I praised her. She gushed happily, tears threatening to fall, her eyes glassy.

When I finally returned to the apartment, Mattie was there outside the building, standing by his truck and waiting for me. He had his arms folded and his expression looked troubled, but as I neared to him, he smiled at me happily.

"All ready to go, finally?" He asked me.

"Yeah, never more ready!" I piled my stuff into the truck bed, and he fastened the tarp over it so as to make sure nothing would fly out. We each got in on our respective sides, but before turning the truck on, Mattie hesitated.

"What is it?" I asked him.

"Well… I'd offered to Ivan to come with us…" Mattie replied after a few seconds.

"You… really? What did he say?" Shock coursed through me.

"I thought it was a good idea at the time. To help look after you and all," I shot Mattie a glare and he snorted at me, "He said he'd think about it but, he finally called while you were out and said he thought it would be best if we didn't travel together. He did promise to keep in touch, though."

I blinked, not really sure what to say to all of this. "Well, he does have his own life, you know. Hunting and whatever it is he does besides that." I played it off, but I was kind of… I don't know, disappointed? But I knew that we'd eventually see each other again.

"Well, let's not waste any more time," Mattie spoke up, and finally started up the truck. As we reached the edge of town, the sun was finally dipping behind the hills. Everything was starting to turn to shadow. The sky was darkening to that rich, twilight blue of velvet, of dreams. This was the Elfland blue that Dunsany described. It made me feel like I could take a step and be in another world, a magic place where nothing hurt. Where no one hurt another. Or where the adventures someone had were symbolic and meaningful, leading to enlightenment, adulthood, or at the very least a nice treasure. Maybe a talking goose.

I'd seen plenty of magic in my world. None of it impressed me a whole lot. But that didn't mean that I didn't have it in me to dream. There was still much out there left to find. We just had to go out there and find it.

"Okay, we're back with _The Midnight Hour_. We have time to take a couple more calls for my guest this evening, Senator Joseph Duke, Republican from Missouri. Evan from San Diego, you're on the air."

"Yeah, hi," Evan said. "Senator Duke, first off I want to thank you for being one of the few members of our government willing to stand up for his beliefs-"

Inwardly, I groaned. Calls that started this way always ended with Bible thumping.

Duke said, "Why, thank you, Evan. Of course it's my God-given duty to stand for the place of moral rectitude in the United States Congress."

"Uh, yeah. And for my question, what I really want to know: In your knowledgeable opinion, what is the best method for punishing the minions of Satan- burning at the stake or drowning in holy water? If the federal government were to institute a code of mandatory punishment, which would you advocate?"

Why did people like this even listen to my show? Probably to collect quotes they could take out of context. The answers I gave to vampire orgy questions always came back to haunt me later.

The senator had the good grace to look discomfited. He shifted in his seat and pursed his lips. "Well, Evan, I'm afraid I'm not the expert on punishing the unrighteous you think I am. In this day and age, I believe the current penal system addresses any crimes for which the minions of Satan might be convicted, and the just punishments for those crimes. And if they come up with new crimes, well, we'll cross that bridge when we get to it, won't we?"

That was what made guys like Duke so scary. They were so articulate in making the weirdest statements.

Senator Joseph Duke, a fifty-something nondescript picture of Middle America, like the guy in the _American Gothic_ painting but twenty pounds heavier, sat at the other end of the table, as far away from me as he possibly could and still reach the microphone. He had two suited bodyguards with him. One of them had his gun drawn, propped in the crook of his crossed arms. the senator refused to be in the same room with me without the bodyguards. I asked about the gun- silver bullets? Of course.

After all the people declaring that the show and my identity be hoaxes, part of some elaborate ratings scheme, or a sick joke played on my gullible fans, Duke's unquestioning belief in my nature was almost refreshing. He almost refused to come on the show at all- originally he'd been scheduled to appear the week after Ivan invaded. We'd had to postpone. I'd had to agree to the bodyguards.

"Next caller, please. Lucy, hello."

"Hello, Alfred. Senator, I want to know how after all your talk about smiting heathens and ridding the country of the nefarious influences of the unrighteous, which you have openly stated include werewolves, can you sit there in the same room with Alfred like nothing's wrong?" I couldn't judge Lucy's tone. It might have been the height of sarcasm, her trying to get a rise out of him; or she might have been in earnest.

"Lucy, the Lord Jesus taught us not to abandon the unrighteous. That even the gravest sinner might be saved if they only let the light of Christ into their hearts. I see my time on this show as the ultimate chance to reach out to the unrighteous."

In my experience, becoming a werewolf had more to do with bad luck that with being a sinner. I couldn't mock his belief, or his sentiment, though. He wasn't advocating mass werewolf slayings, which made him better than some people. My folder of death threats had gotten thick over the months.

Lucy said, "So, Alfred, has he reached out to you?"

A couple of impolite responses occurred to me, and for once I kept them on the inside. "Well, as I've said before, while I may not be the most righteous guy on the airwaves, I certainly don't feel particularly unrighteous. But I'm probably using the word differently than the senator. Let's just say I'm listening attentively, as usual."

The sound engineer gestured through the window to the booth, giving me a count of time left. Not Antonio. I was in Albuquerque this week, at the public radio station that carried the show. It wasn't my booth, or my microphone, and the chair was too new, not as squishy as my chair back at KNOB. I missed that chair. I missed Antonio.

"All right, faithful listeners- and mind you, I'm probably using the word 'faithful' differently than Senator Duke would use it. We've got just a couple of minutes left for closing words. Senator, I have one more question for you, if you don't mind."

"Go right ahead."

"Earlier in the show we discussed the little-publicized report released by a branch of the NIH, a government-sponsored study that made an empirical examination of supernatural beings such as werewolves and vampires. I'd like to ask you, if I may: If the U.S. government is on the verge of labeling lycanthropy and vampirism as diseases- by that I mean identifiable physiological conditions- how does that reconcile with the stance taken by many religious doctrines that these conditions are marks of sin?"

"Well, Mr. Jones, like you, I've read that report. And rather than contradicting my stance on these _conditions_ as you call them, I believe it supports me."

"How?"

"I said before that I want to reach out to the people suffering from these terrible afflictions- just as we as a society must reach out to anyone suffering from illness. We must help them find their way to the righteous path of light."

And what did the vampires think of being led to the path of light. I had to stop myself from snickering as I imagined the Senator saying that to someone like, I dunno, Gilbert.

"How would you do this, Senator?" I said, a tad more diplomatically.

He straightened, launching on a speech like he'd been waiting for this moment, for this exact question. "Many diseases, such as lycanthropy and vampirism in particular, are highly contagious. Folklore has taught us this for centuries, and now modern science confirms it."

"I'd argue with the _highly_ part, but go on."

"As with any contagious disease, the first step should be to isolate the victims. Prevent the spread of the disease. By taking firm steps, I believe we could wipe out these conditions forever, in just a few years."

A vague, squishy feeling settled on my stomach. "So you would… and please, correct me if I've misinterpreted… you would round up all the werewolves you could and force them into, what? Hospitals, housing projects-" Dare I say it? Oh, hell, sure. "- ghettos?"

Duke missed the jab entirely. "I think hospitals in this case would be most appropriate. I'm confident that given time and resources, science will find a way to eradicate the mark of the beast that has settled on these blighted souls."

If it wasn't so sad, I'd laugh. Trouble was, I'd talked to people like this enough to know that I'd never argue them out of their beliefs. "Right. I think I and my blighted soul need a drink. That must mean we're near the end of our time. Once again, Senator Duke, thank you so much for being on the show."

"Thank you for having me. And I want you to know that I am praying for you. You can be saved."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." The other thing about people like this was how they completely lacked the ability to identify sarcasm. "Right, I think we have a whole lot of food for thought after that. And just so everyone out there is clear about how I stand on the issue, and because I've never been shy about expressing my opinion: I think we need to look to the lessons of history when we discuss how the government should handle these issues. I for one don't want people with black armbands coming for me in the middle of the night." This was my show. I always got the last word.

"Thank you for listening. This is Alfred Jones, Voice of the Night." Cue the wolf howl. Another one in the can.

I sat back and sighed.

Senator Duke was staring at me. "It won't come to that."

I shrugged. "That's what they said in Berlin in the thirties."

"I would think people like you would _want_ to be helped."

"The trouble is in how many definitions of 'help' there are. Everyone thinks they have the right answer. I did mean it, though- I appreciate your being on the show, Senator." I stood and offered my hand to shake. Frowning, he looked at it. "I can't hurt you with just a handshake. Honest."

Nodding crisply at his bodyguards, he turned his shoulder to me and left.

I blew out the breath I'd been holding. That was rough. But never let it be said my show was one-sided.

I went to the control booth, where the engineer handed me the phone. "Hey, Toni."

"Hey, Al. Sounded good." Antonio still worked on the show remotely, coaching the local guys on how to run things, making sure the phone number got transferred, stuff like that.

"Cool. Thanks. It only sounds good 'cause you're the best."

"Yeah, I'll believe it when Eliza gives me a raise. Hey, speak of the devil. Talk to you later, Al." There was a rustling as he handed the phone over.

Elizaveta came on the line. "Great show, Al. Just great. You had that bozo sweating. I could tell."

"You think they're all great, Eliza."

"That's 'cause they are. I'm your biggest fan. Are you going to be in Albuquerque next week, or someplace else?"

"Someplace else, I think. I haven't decided. I'll let you know." After I talked to Mattie. We usually just picked a direction and drove.

"I wish you would tell me why you're doing the fugitive bit."

"You don't really want to know. Trust me." All the pack issues and everything that'd happened, I don't really think I could ever explain it to her or Antonio. It wasn't that I thought they wouldn't understand or anything like that… it was just painful.

"Just remember, if you need anything, anything at all, you call me."

"Thanks, Eliza. Give Toni a raise."

She grumbled, and I laughed.

Who said a pack had to be all werewolves?

I bought a car, a vintage '80s hatchback with enormous gas mileage to replace Mattie's impractical truck. I doubled my salary when I stopped paying off Arthur. Maybe I'd even buy myself some new clothes. With a car we could just go anywhere. We'd be traveling at our own speed from now on. And traveling, and traveling.

I checked in with my parents before I left Albuquerque; I checked in with them every week. They bought me a cell phone so I could be sure to call, no matter where I was- and so they could always find me. They weren't happy about my situation. They kept inviting me to stay with them however long I needed to. I appreciated the thought. But I couldn't do that to them, or abandon Mattie.

I kept a lookout for Elijah Smith and the Church of the Pure Faith. There was still a story there. My ultimate goal was to get Smith himself as a guest on the show. Not likely, but I could ream. every now and then I found a flyer or someone sent one to me, advertising his caravan. I always seemed to be a week behind him.

Detective O'Sullivan got hold of me through Natalya Braginski. God help me, I hired the lawyer on retainer. I had my mail forwarded to her, and she had my contact information. She'd been calm and straightforward through all of our interactions. She was never above giving advice on anything and everything, even things as mundane as car insurance. Mattie and her got along great, and I imagine it was because they bonded over having people to look out for all the time; Mattie had me, and she had Ivan. Mattie had told me that they could never tell which one of them had the worst charge to look out for.

Best of all, O'Sullivan had to talk to her before she could get to me. But even Natalya couldn't put her off forever. We talked on the phone the weekend I stayed in Albuquerque.

"We found your DNA on the other werewolf's body, in his mouth and under his fingernails. That makes you an assault victim. Then we found your DNA in the saliva on the wounds on his body, which could get you in trouble, with the way his face is ripped out. But we're willing to make a case for self-defense since he also had your blood under his fingernails." She made it sound so technical. This was my _blood_ we were talking about.

If it hadn't been _my_ blood involved, I would have laughed at how the whole thing sounded like some werewolf version of a Mexican standoff. I admired O'Sullivan for trying to sort out who had attacked whom first.

"Why did you have to leave town?"

"I had to. It wasn't safe for me to stay, after what I did." I let her think it was about the rogue. Some of it was, but it was hardly all of the story.

"You were afraid of ending up like the other guy?"

"Yes."

She sighed. "You might be interested to know, the powers that be are actually listening to me."

"You mean you say 'werewolf' and they believe you?"

"Yeah. The alternative is the theory that some ritual slaying specialist came up with about a cult of cannibals to explain why they found shredded bodies with pieces missing. The idea is the cult imploded when it turned on itself and the member started eating each other. Werewolves sound downright rational compared to that."

Except when there was a hint of truth to the cannibal theory as well.

She said, "If I think of anything else, I'll call you."

"Yeah, sure."

We parted civilly.

O'Sullivan was a good person. I felt grateful for her open-mindedness and her professionalism through all this. I just wished I hadn't been the focus of her efforts.

I was closing in on Austin, Mattie asleep in the passenger seat beside me, when NPR aired a report. I cranked up the volume when I heard a key phrase.

The reporter said, "… Paranatural Biology, releasing findings to Congress in response to questions that have been raised regarding unusual appropriation requests. Doctor Emil Steilsson, an assistant director of the National Institutes of Health overseeing the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology, offered this statement at a press conference held earlier today."

Then Doctor Steilsson spoke:

"I am authorized at this time to announce the formation of the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology within the National Institutes of Health. In conjunction with the British Alternative Biologies Laboratory, we are prepared to release findings recognizing the existence of alternate races of _Homo Sapiens_, races that were once considered only legend…" Blood rushed in my ears. This was the government, a spokesperson for the government. They were blowing my world wide open.

More than that, I recognized the voice. Deep Throat. My secret government spook. I stifled a laugh as he went on to explain the report in terms of taxonomy and science.

"These conditions are mutations brought on by as yet unidentified infectious agents. The following conditions have been identified… _Homo Sapiens Sanguinis_… commonly known as vampire. _Homo Sapiens Lupus_… commonly known as werewolf. _Homo Sapiens Pinnipedia…_"

I had his name. As soon as I stopped for the afternoon, I was going to find his phone number and give _him_ a call.

At a gas station somewhere in West Texas, I went into the store to stock up on road trip munchies while Mattie filled the tank. On my way to the cash register, I passed a rack of newspapers and stopped cold. I stared. I smiled. I bought a paper, the latest issue of _Wide World of News_.

I would frame it, and as soon as I had a wall, it would go up. The headline read:

"Bat Boy to Appear as Guest on _The Midnight Hour_."

As Mattie and I settled into a hotel off of interstate 35, I took some time into researching how I could contact this Doctor Steilsson. I was able to call the offices in which he worked and requested to speak with him. I was in luck, he was still at work.

"Hello? Who might this be?" The same flat, unassuming tone that I'd heard on the radio reached my ears.

"Ah, so you're a Doctor, huh? Neat."

"This is certainly not the best place or time for a personal call." To his credit, he didn't sound all that shocked, if he was at all.

"Well then, we'll just have to make this quick, won't we? You gave me a warning, last we talked. There was a rogue. Toris. He also mentioned doctors."

"I know your curious, Jones, and you deserve answers. Toris was a subject, but that is all I can say on the matter. I assure you that I am on your side, but try and at least wait for me to call you. I'm putting both of us at risk by contacting you." I could sense the urgency in his voice, even if his tone didn't suggest it.

"Fine, fine. If this is as dire and you're trying to make it seem, and I guess I can believe that, by the state Toris was in, then I'll let it alone. For now. But you better call back." The call ended as I finished speaking. The guy needed a lesson in phone etiquette.

"What was that all about?" Mattie asked.

"Just a source of mine. I was trying to find out more information on what was wrong with Toris, our rogue. Hopefully the next time I'm contacted, I'll get more information than that." I sighed, shaking my head. For once I'd wish that I wasn't the one that all this weird stuff happened to.

Mattie curled up with me on the hotel bed (even though there were two) and fell asleep beside me. It took me a bit longer, but the taxing drive eventually led me to sleep as well.

To Be Continued

* * *

_I'm a bit sad that this chapter is so much shorter than the others, but I really didn't want to put any more and spoil it running over into the next arc or anything like that. The chapter is late and it's shorter... I feel bad about that. Oh well, I guess. Nothing to do about it now. Any Favorites, Follows, and/or Reviews are so greatly appreciated! Until next time, my friends._


	9. Act II Part I

_Why hello all of my lovelies! It's that day of the week again (although kind of late, I do admit), and it's time for the new chapter! Where is our traveling werewolf duo now? What have they been up to? What sort of situation are they going to get into this chapter? What issues will rear their ugly heads? Well, you have to read to find out! All reviews, favorites, and follows are greatly appreciated and thank all of you who do so._

_To the guest that wondered if I got my inspiration of this from the Night Vale podcasts, no, I didn't know that even existed when I wrote up and published the first chapter of this story XD But! I have heard a lot about it from tumblr, and I do admit that it's quite fascinating._

* * *

_Part One_

"We have Beth from Tampa on the line. Hello."

"Hi, Alfred, thanks for taking my call."

"You're welcome."

"I have a question I've been wanting to ask for a long time. Do you think Dracula is still out there?"

I leaned on the arm of my chair and stared at the microphone. "Dracula. As in, the book? The character?"

Beth from Tampa sounded cheerful and earnest. "Yeah, I mean, he's got to be the best-known vampire there is. He was so powerful, I can't really believe that Van Helsing and the rest of them just finished him off."

I tried to be polite. "Actually, they did. It's just a book, Beth. Fiction. They're characters."

"But you sit there week after week telling everyone that vampires and werewolves are real. Surely a book like this must have been based on something that really happened. Maybe his name wasn't actually Dracula, but Bram Stoker must have based him on a real vampire, don't you think? Don't you wonder who that vampire was?"

Stoker may have met a real vampire, may even have based Dracula on that vampire. But if that vampire was still around, I suspected he was in deep hiding out of embarrassment.

"Even if there is a real vampire who was Stoker's inspiration, the events of the book are sheer fabrication. I say this because _Dracula_ isn't really about vampires, or vampire hunting, or the undead, or any of that. It's about a lot of _other_ things: sexuality, religion, reverse imperialism, and xenophobia. But what it's _really_ about is saving the world through superior office technology." I waited half a beat for that to sink it. I loved this stuff. "Think about it. They make such a big deal about their typewriters, phonographs, stenography- this was like the techno-thriller of its day. They end up solving everything because Mina was really great at data entry and collating. What do you think?"

"Um… I think that may be a stretch."

"Have you even read the book?"

"Um, no. But I've seen every movie version of it! " she ended brightly, as if that would save her.

I suppressed a growl. "All right. Which is your favorite?"

"The one with Keanu Reeves!"

"Why am I not surprised?" I clicked her off. "Moving on. Next caller, you're on the air."

"Alfred, hey! Longtime listener, first-time caller. I'm so glad you put me on."

"No problem. What's your story?"

"Well, I have sort of a question. Do you have any idea what kind of overlap there is between the lycanthropes and the furry community?"

The monitor said this guy had a question about lycanthropy and alternative lifestyles. The producer screening calls was doing a good job of being vague.

I knew this topic would come up eventually. It seemed I'd avoided it for as long as I possibly could. Oh well. The folks in radioland expected honesty.

"You know, I've hosted this show for almost a year without anyone bringing up furries. Thank you for destroying that last shred of dignity I possessed."

"You don't have to be so-"

"Look, seriously. I have no idea. They're two different things- lycanthropy is a disease. Furry-ness is a… a predilection. Which I suppose means it's possible to be both. And when you say furry, are you talking about the people who like cartoons with bipedal foxes, or are you talking about the people who dress up in animal suits to get it on? Maybe some of the people who call in wanting to know how to become werewolves happen to be furries and think that's the next logical step. How many of the lycanthropes that I know are furries? That's not something I generally ask people. Do you see how complicated this is?" Even though I knew he wasn't one, I was planning on asking Mattie if he was just for the laughs.

"Well, yeah. But I have to wonder, if someone _really_ believes that they were meant to be, you know, a different species entirely- like the way some men really believe they were meant to be women and then go through a sex change operation- don't you think it's reasonable that-"

"No. No it isn't reasonable. Tell me, do _you_ think that you were meant to be a different species entirely?"

He gave a deep sigh, the kind that usually preceded a dark confession, the kind of thing that was a big draw for most of my audience.

"I have this recurring dream where I'm an alpaca."

I did a little flinch, convinced I hadn't heard him correctly. "Excuse me?"

"An alpaca. I keep having these dreams where I'm an alpaca. I'm in the Andes, high in the mountains. In the next valley over there are ruins of a great Incan city. Everything is so green." He might have been describing the photos in an issue of _National Geographic_. "And the grass tastes so lovely."

Okay, that probably wasn't in _National Geographic._

"Um… that's interesting."

"I'd love to travel there someday. To see the Andes for myself. Have… have you by any chance ever met any were-alpacas?"

If it weren't so sad I'd have to laugh. "No, I haven't. All the were-animals I've ever heard of are predators, so I really don't think you're likely to meet a were-alpaca."

"Oh," he said with a sigh. "Do you think maybe I was an alpaca in a past life?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm sorry I can't be more help. I genuinely hope you find some answers to your questions someday. I think traveling there is a great idea." Seeing the world never hurt, in my opinion. "Thanks for calling."

I had no idea where the show could possibly go after that. I hit a line at random. "Next caller, what do you want to talk about?"

"Hi, Alfred, yeah. Um, thanks. I… I think I have a problem." He was male, with a tired-sounding tenor voice. I always listened closely to the ones who seemed tired; their problems were usually complicated.

"Then let's see what we can do with it. What's wrong?"

"It all started when these two guys moved to town, a werewolf and a vampire. They're a couple, you know?"

"These two guys. Men, right?"

"Right."

"And the problem is…"

"Well, nothing at this point. But then this vampire hunter started going after the vampire, I guess he'd been hired by the vampire's former human servant."

"The vampire's human servant didn't travel with him?"

"No, he dumped her to run off with the werewolf."

There couldn't possibly be more. Bracing, I said, "Then what?"

"_Another_ werewolf, who used to be the alpha female mate of the werewolf before he hooked up with the vampire, showed up. She wanted to get back together with him, saying this stuff about wolves mating for life and all, but he didn't want anything to do with her, so he hired the same hunter to go after _her-_"

"This hunter, his name wasn't Ivan by any chance, was it?" I knew a vampire and werewolf hunting Ivan, and this sounded like something he might get himself into. I liked to imagine him frustrated and trying to figure all this out after getting these two different contracts.

"No."

Oh, how disappointing. "Just checking."

The story only went downhill from there. Just when I thought the last knot had been tied in the tangled web of this town's supernatural soap opera, the caller added a new one.

Finally, I was able to ask, "And what's your place in all this?"

He gave a massive sigh. "I'm the human servant of the local vampire Master. They make me deliver messages. 'Tell them they have to leave town.' 'Tell your Master we don't want to leave town!' 'Tell the hunter we'll pay him to call off the contract!' 'Tell him if he doesn't come back to me I'll kill myself!' It never ends! And all I want to know is-"

Maybe he just wanted to vent. That was what he was here for. Maybe he wouldn't ask me to sort out his drama for him. Fingers crossed. "Yes?"

"Why can't we all just get along?"

Oi. It was one of those nights. "That, my friend, is the million-dollar question. You know what? Screw 'em. They're all being selfish and putting you in the middle. Make them deliver their own messages."

"I… I can't do _that_."

"Yes, you can. They've got to realize how ridiculous this all looks."

"Well, I mean, _yeah_, I've _told_ them, but-"

"But what?"

"I guess I'm used to doing what I'm told."

"Then maybe you should learn to say no. When they act surprised that you've said no, tell them it's for their own good. You've basically been enabling all their snotty behavior, right?"

"Maybe…"

"Because if they had to start talking to each other they might actually solve some of their problems, right?"

"Or rip each other's throats out. They're not exactly human, remember."

Taking a deep breath and trying not to sound chronically frustrated, I said, "I may very well be the only person in the supernatural world who feels this way, but I don't think that should make a difference. Crappy behavior is still crappy behavior, and letting yourself succumb to unsavory monstrous instincts isn't a good excuse. So, stand up for yourself, okay?"

"O-okay," he said, not sounding convinced.

"Call me back and let me know how it goes."

"Thanks, Alfred."

The producer gave me a warning signal, waving from the other side of the booth window, pointing at his watch, and making a slicing motion across his throat. Um, maybe he was trying to tell me something.

I sighed, then leaned up to the mike. "I'm sorry, folks, but that looks like all the time we have this week. I want to thank you all for spending the last couple of hours with me and invite you to come back next week, when I talk with the lead singer of the punk metal band Plague of Locusts, who says their bass player is possessed by a demon, and that's the secret of their success. This is _The Midnight Hour_, and I'm Alfred Jones, voice of the night."

The _On Air_ sign dimmed, and the show's closing credits, which included a recording of a wolf howl- my wolf howl- as backdrop, played. I pulled the headset off and ran my fingers through my blond hair, hoping it didn't look to squished.

The producer's name was Jim something. I forgot his last name. Rather, I didn't bother remembering. I'd be at a different radio station next week, working with a different set of people.

Rather than find a new base of operations, Mattie and I decided to travel. It kept me out of trouble with the locals, which is why Mattie was so agreeable to the idea, I supposed, and it made me harder to find. The radio audience wouldn't know the difference. I was in Flagstaff this week.

I leaned on the doorway leading to the control booth and smiled a thanks to Jim. Like a lot of guys stuck manning the control board over the graveyard shift, he was impossibly young, college age, maybe even an intern, or at most a junior associate producer of some kind. He was sweating. He probably hadn't expected to handle this many calls on a talk show that ran at midnight.

Most of my audience stayed up late.

He handed me a phone handset. I said into it, "Hi, Toni."

These days, he coached the local crew. I couldn't do this without him.

"Hey, Al. It's a wrap, looks like."

"Was it okay?"

"Sounded great."

"You always say that," I said with a little bit of a whine.

"What can I say? You're consistent."

"Thanks. I think."

"Tomorrow's full moon, right? You going to be okay?"

It was nice that he remembered, even nicer that he was worried about me, but I didn't like to talk about it. He was an outsider. A really good friend, but an outsider none the less. "Yeah, I have a good place all checked out."

"Take care of yourself, Al."

"Thanks."

I wrapped things up at the station and went to the hotel Mattie and I decided to stay at to sleep off the rest of the night. When I entered our room, Mattie was inside on the bed reading whatever book he'd picked up at some local bookstore. He'd gotten into finding books to pass his time with, whenever he wasn't occupied reading local and national newspapers, scanning them for any information that might seem relevant to us. Sometimes, he took out a spare bit of wood and his carving knife and made little animal figures and things. He had about a dozen of the things in his suitcase and stashed about the car.

"Hey," I piped up to rouse him from his reading, "so, you wouldn't happen to be a furry and never told me, would you?" A wide grin settled across my face as he narrowed his eyes in a suspicious glare. He glanced over to the small, portable radio he carried around and kept in the room we stayed in, in order to listen to my show whenever I was out. I suspected it helped him feel like he was watching over me, making sure I wasn't getting into trouble, even over the radio.

"If this is about that stupid were-alpaca thing, I swear, Alfred…" I laughed and dived onto the bed beside him, making him bounce about a foot in the air.

"Relax, Mattie, I'm joking! You don't ever feel the urge to eat grass, do you? Or dream of going off to the Andes?"

"Alfred, I'm going to punch you. In the face." I lunged and hugged him around the middle, him sitting at the head of the bed, resting on the headboard with pillows at his back, reading, and I laid down and curled beside him, arms curled around his abdomen. Neither of us could really sleep, of course. We'd become positively nocturnal, me doing the show and Mattie listening to it. I'd gotten used to not sleeping until dawn, then waking at noon. It was even easier now that it was just us two. No one checked up on us, no one to meet or schedule appointments with or anything like that. It was just us, the road, and the show once a week. An isolated forest somewhere once a month. It was… a lonely life. But we had each other, and Wolf curled around my consciousness now, ever since the rogue. He was so much closer now, and his presence was like a sort of mental handholding going on between the two of us. Well, handholding with what it meant to werewolves. The calming touch of knowing there was someone there, pack, who had your back. It was the same as what Mattie and I did except… well, it was all in my head.

Our next evening was spoken for. Full moon nights were always spoken for.

The both of us had gone scouting around, and I'd found a place a couple of days ago: a remote trailhead at the end of a dirt road in the interior of a state park. I could leave the car parked in a secluded turn-out behind a tree. Real wolves didn't get this far south, so we only had to worry about intruding on any local werewolves who might have marked out this territory. We'd spent an afternoon walking around, watching, smelling. Giving the locals a chance to see us, let them know we were here. I didn't smell anything unexpected, and neither did Mattie. Just the usual forest scents of deer, fox, rabbits. Good hunting here. It looked like we'd have it all to ourselves.

A couple of hours from midnight the next day, I parked the car at the far end of the trailhead, where it couldn't be seen from the road. I didn't want to give any hint that we were out here. I didn't want anyone, especially not the police, to come snooping. I didn't want anyone I or Mattie might hurt to come within miles of us.

We'd done this once before, after we'd left Denver. It was our second full moon after the unsettling events of the rogue, and our departure. The first full moon had been uneventful, except I was actually in sort of a semi-awake state. A full moon Change is different from a Change at any other time, not only because the full moon Change is mandatory and forced, while the other is one where the werewolf actually chooses to Change, but in another way as well. Full moon Changes result in total loss of consciousness for the human side of everything. Wolf is completely in reign over the body. That's what makes full moons so scary for newly turned werewolves. The not remembering, waking up and not knowing what you'd done. Any other Change, it's like Wolf and I have switched, where Wolf is in the front and I'm watching from the back seat. And then the whole sort of half-transformation where I can still have some control and let Wolf bleed in little by little.

But last full moon, I could feel things. Like I was having a dream, but I was blind. All my other senses bombarded me, all the tastes and smells and sounds. The feel of forest underneath my feet. I'd never experienced anything like it. It was like Wolf was trying to share the joy of the hunt with me. I could feel his excitement and happiness as he interacted with Mattie's wolf, and they hunted together. It was… nothing short of amazing. Just being able to enjoy hunting in the simple way that Wolf enjoyed it. I felt things Wolf felt as myself, unChanged, but it was nowhere near this.

I sat in the car, gripping the steering wheel, and squeezed shut my eyes. There was this small moment before setting out into the forest, a small nervousness and worry. What if something went wrong? What if Mattie and I were found? What if we got in a fight, or did something to someone that happened by us?

_You'll be okay. You can take care of yourself. There's no one here but you and Mattie._

Wolf. He'd acquired a voice. He used to get his point across by his feelings. I could tell what he thought about things and situations that way. But now, sometimes he spoke to me. Only when I was really distressed. It calmed me in the same way that it would if Mattie had spoken it to me, or held my hand and gave me a reassuring smile or look. There was no denying. Wolf was starting to become a welcome presence. Since the day we fought the rogue, he'd been starting to change ever so slightly. After I'd reached out to him, he wanted me to stay reached out, and stay close. And that's how he started to define himself, as a presence that wanted comfort, and to give it in return. I didn't really know what it meant.

Mattie's hand on my shoulder roused me from my deep thoughts.

"Ready?" He took my silence for hesitance, or maybe he thought I was mentally preparing myself for what was to come. Having regular interaction with Mattie, and spending full moon together really helped him, as far as I could tell. He didn't always have the far-away look in his eyes, and he seemed much more grounded. I guess traveling with me sort of forced him into a more human way of doing things, since we had to travel around town a lot, and sometimes interact with other people frequently. I was really relieved. He'd always been so much more inclined to his wolf side when we were with the pack. I liked to think that striking out with me was creating more of a good balance within him. I really hoped that was the case. I would hate to think that all of this, traveling around just the two of us, was having some sort of negative reaction within him or to him.

I nodded to him, and we both opened our doors and stepped out of the car. I locked it, put the keys in my jeans pocket, and walked away from the parking lot, away from the trail, and into the wild, Mattie at my back as always. The night was clear and sharp. Every touch of air, every scent, blazed clear. The moon, swollen, bursting with light, edged above the trees on the horizon. It touched me, I could feel the light brushing my skin. Goosebumps rose on my arms. Inside, Wolf was preening with delight and anticipation. It made me feel giddy, laughter and butterflies bubbling in my stomach. I'd think I was laughing, but Wolf might burst out of me instead.

I kept my breathing slow and steady. Easing into the Change on full moon was hard. Wolf just wanted to burst forth, straight out. But it hurt. It hurt to Change, normally and during full moon. That was the hardest part. The feeling that every nerve was on fire and that your skin, your bones, your whole body was melting and shifting and being molded into a different form.

The forest was silver, the trees shadows. Fallen leaves rustled as nighttime animals foraged. I ignored the noises, the awareness of the life surrounding me. Wolf made me so much more aware, his consciousness brushing so close. I pulled off my T-shirt, felt the moonlight touch my skin. Every inch of me, every cell just felt so… _alive_. Wolf could feel it too. He reveled in our shared sensations.

Matte and I put our clothes in a hollow formed by a fallen tree and a boulder. The space was big enough for us to curl up together and sleep in when we were finished, a welcome den from Wolf's perspective. I backed away, naked, every pore tingling.

I could do this, we could do this. We're safe. Together. Nothing can hurt us.

I counted down from five-

One came out as a wolf's howl.

_The animal, rabbit, squeals once, falls still. Blood fills mouth, burns like fire. This life, joy, ecstasy, feeding by the silver light, a yip from Mattie in the distance-_

If turning Wolf felt like being drunk on sensations and emotions, the next day definitely felt like being hung-over.

I lay in the dirt and decayed leaves, Mattie at my side. We'd woken up together in a dog pile, so to speak. I always woke up with Mattie at my back, now and in the pack. That familiarity comforted me. My entire body throbbed with exhaustion, but it felt kind of good, like runner's ecstasy. I whined, groaned, stretched, found my clothes, brushed myself off, and got dressed, Mattie following my lead with lethargy in his movements. The sky was gray; the sun would rise soon. We'd be out of here by then. I got to my car just as the first hikers of the morning pulled into the trailhead parking area. We must have looked a mess, Mattie and I: hair tangled, foliage clinging to us, clothes rumpled, I carrying my sneakers in my hands. They stared. I glared at them as I climbed into my own car. I drove back to the hotel for a welcomed shower.

At noon, after Mattie and I squared everything away into the car, I drove onto I-40 heading west. It seemed like a good place to be, for a while. I'd end up in Los Angeles, and that sounded like an adventure.

The middle of the desert between Flagstaff and L.A. certainly wasn't anything resembling an adventure. We'd played through just about every C.D. we'd brought with us while we traveled through the land of no radio reception. A snarky game of I Spy soon followed.

Which made it all the more surreal when my cell phone rang.

Phone reception? Out here?

Mattie answered the phone for me, since I was driving, already readying the hands-free earpiece for me in case it was important.

"Hello?" He asked.

"Matthew? It's me, Natalya."

I groaned. Ah, yes. My lawyer, Natalya. Sharp as a tack and vaguely disreputable. She'd agreed to represent _me_, after all.

"I'll hand him the phone, then."

"Natalya," I started off, "It's not that I don't like you, babe, really I do. But every time you call it's bad news."

"Not _every_ time," she said, her tone conveying how she was probably raising her eyebrow at me. "Sometimes I like to call just to make sure you aren't dead. Or that you haven't managed to give Matthew a heart attack yet. I am very concerned for his well-being you know."

"Yes, yes, I know, because looking after me must be _such_ a chore."

"It is." I heard this from two ends, the phone and beside me, where Mattie sat in the passenger's seat.

"That was creepy."

"Let us get to the point, Alfred. You've been subpoenaed by the Senate."

Not one to mince words, Natalya was.

"Uh, excuse me?"

"A special oversight committee of the United States Senate requests the honor of your presence at upcoming hearings regarding the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. I guess they think you're some kind of expert on the subject." She said the last sentence as though the thought was a surprise. She didn't have to be so facetious about it.

"What?" I was still reeling with shock.

"You heard me." Her tone said, 'get your shit together, Jones.'

Yeah, I'd heard her, and as a result my brain froze. Senate? Subpoena? Hearings? As in Joe McCarthy and the Hollywood blacklist? As in Iran-Contra?

"Alfred?"

"Is this bad? I mean, how bad is it?" Nervousness seeped into my voice, and Mattie was looking concerned beside me.

"Calm down. It isn't bad. Senate committees have hearings all the time. It's how they get information. Since they don't know anything about paranatural biology, they've called hearings."

It made sense. She even made it sound routine. I still couldn't keep the panic out of my voice. "What am I going to do?"

"You're going to go to Washington, D.C., and you're going to answer the nice senators' questions." She managed to sound serious, commanding, and sarcastic at the same time.

That was on the other side of the country. How much time did I have? Could I drive it? Fly? Did I have anything I could wear to Congress? I didn't think so. Would they tell me the questions they wanted to ask ahead of time, as if I could study for it like it was some kind of test?

They didn't expect me to do this by myself, did they? Mattie was coming along whether he wanted to or not. Also…

"Natalya? You have to come with me."

Now _she_ actually sounded a bit panicked. "Oh, no. They're just going to ask you questions. You don't need a lawyer there."

"Come on. Please? Think of it as a vacation. It'll all go on the expense account."

"I don't have time-"

"Honestly, what do you think the odds are that I can keep out of trouble once I open my mouth, even with Mattie there? Isn't there this whole 'contempt of Congress' thing that happens when I say something that pisses them off? Would you rather be there from the start or have to fly in at the middle of things to get me out of jail for mouthing off at somebody important?"

Mattie was looking slightly horrified next to me.

Natalya's sigh was that of a martyr. "When you're right, you're right."

Victory! "Thanks, Nat. I really appreciate it. When do we need to be there?"

"Do not call me that. And I'm only doing this because I know how out of line you get and Matthew is going to need all the help he can," another sigh, and I could imagine she was rubbing her forehead in frustration. "We've got a couple weeks yet."

And here I was, going the wrong way.

"So I can drive there from Barstow in time."

"What the hell are you doing in Barstow?" She repeated again, louder, maybe hoping Matthew would take the phone away from me and answer her, "What the hell are you two doing in Barstow?"

"Driving?"

Natalya made an annoyed huff and hung up on me.

So. I was going to Washington, D.C.

I seemed to be living my life on the phone lately. I could go for days without having a real face-to-face conversation with anyone, besides Mattie, that wasn't beyond, "As a matter of fact, I would like two fries with that." I was turning into one of those jokers who walks around with a hands-free earpiece permanently attached to one ear. Sometimes, I just forgot it was there.

I went to L.A., did two shows, interviewed the band- no demon possessions happened in my presence, but they played a screechy death metal-sounding thing that made me wish I'd been out of my body for it. That left me a week or so to drive to the East Coast.

I was on the road when I decided to call Dr. Emil Steilsson again. Steilsson headed up the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology, the focus of the Senate hearing in question. Until a month ago it had been a confidential research organization, a secret laboratory investigating a field that no one who wasn't involved believed even existed. Then Steilsson held a press conference and blew the doors wide open. He thought the time was right to make the Center's work public, to officially recognize the existence of vampires, werewolves, and dozen other things that go bump in the night. I was sure that part of why he did it was my show. People had already started to believe, and accept. He'd helped me out once, in a weird off-hand sort of way.

I'd been trying to talk to him again since I'd first managed to contact him before. I had his phone number, but I only ever got through to voice mail. As long as I kept trying, he'd get so sick of my messages that he'd call me back eventually.

Or get a restraining order.

The phone rang. And rang. I mentally prepared another version of my message- please call back, we have to talk, I promise not to bite.

Then someone answered. "Hello?"

The car swerved; I was so surprised I almost let go of the steering wheel. Mattie yelled out in alarm and when I put the car to rights again he smacked me on my arm multiple times, telling me not to scare him like that again.

"Uh, hello? Dr. Steilsson?"

There was a pause before he answered, "Ah. Alfred Jones. How nice to hear from you." His tone suggested the contrary.

"You never called back. I _really_ need to talk to you. You spent six months calling me anonymously, dropping mysterious hints about your work and suggesting that you want me to help you without ever giving any details, Toris happened, and then without warning you go public, and I have to recognize your voice off a radio broadcast conference. Then, a one minute call, and silence. You don't want to talk to me. And now I've been subpoenaed to testify before a Senate committee about this can of worms you've opened. Don't get me wrong, I think it's a great can of worms. But what exactly are you trying to accomplish."

He said, "I've been wanting the Center to go public for a while. Put to light all its activities. I'm conflicted. I want the Center to keep its funding, we could find out things from the supernatural that are worth studying into. Where they come from? How do they exist? A cure? But, it's also dangerous. Some that work here do not ask the same questions I do, don't care about the same things. I'm in a tricky situation."

At last, a straight answer. I could imagine what had happened: as a secret research organization, the Center's funding was off the books, or disguised under some other innocuous category. An enterprising young congressman must have seen that there was a stream of money heading into some nebulous and possibly useless avenue and started an investigation.

And maybe Steilsson had wanted the Center to be discovered in this manner all along. Now the Senate was holding official hearings, and he'd get to show his work to the world. And others' as well, apparently. Hoping maybe to weed out those who would misuse their research? I just wished he'd warned me.

"So all you have to do is make sure the Center comes off looking good?" I asked.

"Useful," he said, "It has to look useful. Good and useful aren't always the same thing. I just have to make sure that they end up being the same thing, at some point in time." He did sound very tired, I thought. "I'd heard that you'd been called to testify. For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be," I said lightly. "It'll be fun. I'm looking forward to it. But I'd really like to meet you beforehand and get your side of the story."

"There's nothing much to tell."

"Then humor me. I'm insanely curious." Wait for it, wait for it- "How about I interview you on the show? You could get the public behind you."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

Good thing I was driving across Texas- no turns and nothing to run into. Steilsson had all my attention. Mattie was watching the road and the steering wheel warily, probably thinking he might need to dive in at some point.

"This may be your only chance to tell your side of the story, why you're doing this research and why you funding, and what you think the Center needs and what direction you think it should be heading, outside of the hearings. Never underestimate the power of public opinion."

"You're persuasive."

"I try." Carry them along with sheer enthusiasm. That was the trick. I felt like a commercial.

He hesitated; I let him think about it. Then he said, "Call me again when you get to D.C."

At this point, anything that wasn't 'no' was a victory.

"You promise you'll actually answer the phone and not screen me with voice mail?"

"I'll answer."

"Thank you."

Mental calculation- the next show was on Friday, in four days. I could reach D.C. by then. I could get Steilsson on the show before the hearings started.

Time for another call, to Antonio this time. "Toni? Can you see about setting up this week's show in Washington D.C.?"

For years I hadn't left the town I lived in, much less driven across country. I didn't want to leave the place where I was comfortable and safe. It was easy to stay in one place and let my packmates, my alpha, take care of me. Easy to stagnate. Then the show started, and the boundaries became too narrow. What was supposed to happen- what happened among wild wolves, behavior that carried over to the lycanthropic variety- was that a young wolf moved up through the pecking order, testing the boundaries until he or she challenged the leaders themselves, and if they won, he or she became alpha. I couldn't do it. I challenged but didn't want to lead. I left town. Mattie, the blessing he was, came with me. We'd been essentially homeless since then, staying in hotels instead of a permanent household. Wandering, a rogue pack.

It wasn't so bad.

I drank coffee, which put me on edge but kept me awake and driving. Before I left Denver I'd never done this, driven for hours, until the asphalt on the highway buzzed and the land whipped by in a blur. It made me feel powerful, in a way. I didn't have to listen to anyone, I could stop when I wanted, eat where I wanted, and no one second-guessed my directions. Mattie was up for anything I wanted to do, any welcome distraction amongst the miles of road we traveled.

I took the time to play tourist on the way. I stopped at random bronze historical markers, followed brown landmark highway signs down obscure two-lane highways, saw Civil War battlefields and giant plaster chickens. Maybe after the hearings I could set some kind of crazy goal and make it a publicity stunt: do the show from every state capital, a different city each week for a year. I could get the producers to pay for a trip to Hawaii for me and Mattie. Oh, yeah.

Antonio set me up at an Arlington, Virginia, radio station. I got there Friday around noon. I was cutting it close; the show aired live Friday night. I dropped Mattie off to get our hotel situated and headed for the station building.

Lucky for me, Steilsson had agreed to be a guest on the show.

The station's offices and broadcast center, a low brick fifties-era building with the call letters hung outside in modernist steel, were in a suburban office park overgrown with thick, leafy trees. Inside the swinging glass doors, the place was like a dozen other public and talk radio stations I'd been to: cluttered but respectable, run by sincere people who couldn't seem to find time to water the yellowing ficus plant in the corner.

A receptionist sat at a desk crowded with unsorted mail. She was on the phone, straight black hair tied in twin buns on her head, with a defined Asian look about her, though I had no clue and didn't want to jump to conclusions. I approached, smiling in what I hoped was a friendly and unthreatening manner- at least I hoped that the dazed, vacuous smile I felt would pass for friendly. I could still feel the roar of the car tires in my tendons. Wolf liked the car. He liked the window pulled down and wind at our nostrils, taking in all the scents. He liked going fast. So did I. The receptionist held her hand out in a 'wait a minute' gesture.

"- I don't care what he told you, Mei. He's cheating on you. Yes… yes. See, you already know it. Who works past eleven every night? Insurance salesmen don't _have_ night shifts, Mei… Fine, don't listen to me, but when you find someone else's black lace panties in his glove box, don't come crying to me."

My life could be worse. I could be hosting a talk show on _normal_ relationship problems.

After hanging up the phone she turned a sugary smile on me as if nothing had happened. "What can I do for you?"

Wadded up in my hand I had a piece of paper with the name of the station manager. "I'm here to see Aloise… uh… Beilschmidt?" I had to say it in my head a couple of times to try and understand how to force the name out of my mouth.

"I think she may be out to lunch, let me check a minute." She played tag with the intercom phone system, buzzing room after room with no luck. I was about to tell her not to worry about it, that I'd go take a nap in my car or something until she got back.

"I don't know. I'll ask." She looked up from a rather involved conversation on one of the lines. "Can I pass along your name?"

"Alfred Jones. I should be scheduled to do a show tonight."

Raised brows told me she'd heard the name before. She didn't take her gaze off me when she passed along the answer.

"Says he's Alfred Jones… that's right… I think so. All right, I'll send him back." She put away the handset. "Feliciano is the assistant manager. He said to go on back and he'll talk to you. Last door on the right." She gestured down a hallway.

I felt her watching me the whole way. Some time ago I'd state don the air, on live national radio, that I was a werewolf. Listeners generally took that to mean a couple of different things: that I was a werewolf, or that I was crazy. Or possibly that I was involved in an outrageous publicity stunt pandering to the gullible and superstitious.

Any one of the reasons was stare-worthy.

I arrived at the last door, which stood open. Two desks and two different work spaces occupied the room, which was large enough to establish an uneasy truce between them. The man at the messier of the two (if the other desk could even be called messy, it seemed almost unnaturally clean and organized) stood as I appeared and made his way around the furniture. He left a half-played game of solitaire on his computer.

He came at me so quickly with his hand outstretched, ready to shake, that I almost backed out of the way. Wolf bristled at how our personal space was being seized. He was in his twenties, with floppy brown hair and a grin that probably never went away. Former college cheerleader, I'd bet.

"Alfred Jones? You're Alfred Jones? Can I call you Al? I'm a big fan! Hi, I'm Feliciano, you can call me Feli, almost everyone does. It's great to have you here!"

"Hi," I said, letting him pump my hand. "So, um. Thanks for letting me set up shop here on such short notice."

"No problem. Looking forward to it. Come in, have a seat."

What I really wanted was to have a look at their studio, meet the engineer who'd be running the board for me, then get back to the hotel, shower, and supper with Mattie. Feli wanted to chat. He pointed me to a chair in the corner and pulled the one from his desk over.

He said, "So. I've always wanted to ask, and now that you're here, well-"

I prepared for the interrogation.

"Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"Excuse me?"

"On your show. I mean, do you coach callers? Are they actors? Do you have plants? How scripted is it? How many writers do you have? At first I thought it was a gag, we all did. But you've kept it up for a year now, and it's great! I gotta know how you do it."

I might as well hit my head against a brick wall.

Conspiratorially, I leaned forward over the plastic arm of the retro office chair. He bent toward me, his eyes wide, green, and sparkling. Because of course I'd give away trade secrets to anyone who asked.

"Why don't you stick around tonight and find out?"

"Come on, not even a little hint?"

"Now where's all the fun in that?" I stood. "Hey, it's been great meeting you, but I really should get going."

"Oh- but you just got here. I could show you around. I could-"

"Is he bothering you?"

A woman in a rumpled navy-blue suit a few years out-of-date, her blond hair short cropped and pixie cut, stood in the doorway, her arms crossed.

"You must be Aloise… ah, Beilschmidt," I said, hoping I sounded enthusiastic rather than relieved. And that she didn't get offended too badly at how I must be butchering her last name. "I'm Alfred Jones. My colleague should have been in touch with you."

"Yes. Nice to meet you. Good try and the pronunciation, by the way." Thankfully, her handshake was perfectly sedate and functional, if a little hard. Much like Natalya's actually.

"My lawyer has a foreign name as well. She coaches me sometimes." She really does hate it if I can't pronounce it right.

"Feliciano," she turns to the other man, "You have that marketing report for me yet?"

"Oh, um, no. Not yet. Just getting to it now. Be ready in an hour. Yes, ma'am." Feli bounded to his desk and closed the solitaire game, looking very much like a kicked puppy.

Aloise gave me exactly the tour I wanted and answered all my questions. Even, "That Feliciano is a bit excitable, isn't he?"

"You should see him without his medication."

She saw me to the door and recommended a good hotel nearby. I thanked her for the suggestion, by lucky chance that was the hotel I'd dropped Mattie off at.

"Thanks again," I said. "It was kind of a crap shoot finding a station that'll even touch my show."

She shook her head, and her smile seemed long-suffering. "Alfred, we're five miles from Washington, D.C. There's nothing you can throw at us that'll compare with what I've seen come out of there."

I couldn't say I believed her. Because if she was right, I was about to get into things way over my head.

I returned to the station a couple of hours early and waited to meet Dr. Emil Steilsson. I fidgeted. Chun-Yan, the receptionist, told me all kinds of horror stories about traffic in the D.C. area, the Beltway, the unreliability of the Metro, all of it giving me hundreds of reasons to think that Steilsson couldn't possibly arrive in time for the show. It was okay, I tried to convince myself. This sort of thing had happened before. I'd had guests miss their slot entirely. It was one of the joys of live radio. I just had to ad-lib. That was why the phone lines were so great. Somebody was always willing to make an ass out of themselves on the air.

Chun-Yan went home for the evening, so at least the horror stories stopped. Aloise and Feliciano stuck around to watch the show. I paced in the lobby, back and forth. Bad habit. Wolf's bad habit. I let him have it- it gave him something to do so we both wouldn't drive each other crazy. My anxiety tended to make him antsy.

Me. Made _me_ antsy.

Fifteen minutes before start time, a man opened the glass door a foot and peered inside. I stopped. "Dr. Steilsson?"

Straightening, he entered the lobby and nodded.

A weight lifted. "I'm Alfred, thanks for coming."

Steilsson wasn't what I expected. From his voice and the way he carried on, I expected someone cool and polished, slickly governmental, with a respectable suit and regulation haircut. A player. Instead, he looked pale, his hair was even paler. He wore a brown suit jacket and white button up underneath, with brown tweed pants tucked into boots. His ash blond hair reminded me vaguely of Ivan's and looked about a month overdue for a cut, long, curly and framed his face. His face was pale but for the shadows under his eyes. He didn't look to be any older than I was.

In the same calm voice I recognized from a half-dozen phone calls, he said, "You're not what I expected."

I was taken aback. "What did you expect?"

"Someone older, I think. More experienced." I wasn't sure if he intended that as a compliment or a mere statement of fact.

"You don't have to be old to have experience, Doctor." And what did he know about it? "Besides, I should be saying the same to you. Come on back and I'll show you the studio."

I made introductions all around. I tried to put Steilsson at ease; he seemed nervous, glancing over his shoulder, studying the station staff as if filing them away in some mental classification system for later reference. I wasn't sure if that was his academic nature or his government background at work. He moved stiffly, taking the seat I offered him like he expected it to slide out from under him. The guy was probably not used to interacting with normal people, I'd hazarded to guess.

I showed him the headphones and mike, found my own headset, leaned back in my chair, finally in my element.

The sound guy counted down through the booth window, and the first guitar chords of the show's theme song- Creedence Clearwater Revival's "Bad Moon Rising"- cued up. It didn't matter how many different station I did the show from, this moment always felt the same: it was mine. I had the mike, I was in control, and as long as that _On Air_ sign stayed lit, I called the shots. Until something went horribly wrong, of course. I could usually get through the introduction without having a crisis.

"Good evening. This is _The Midnight Hour_, the show that isn't afraid of the dark or the creatures who live there. I'm Alfred Jones, your charming host.

"I have as my very special guest this evening Dr. Emil Steilsson. As you may or may not know, a little over a month ago Dr Steilsson held a press conference that announced scientific recognition of what used to be considered mythical, supernatural forms of human beings. Vampires, werewolves- you know, people like me. He has an M.D. from Columbia University, a Ph.D. in epidemiology from Johns Hopkins, and for the last five years has headed up the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. Welcome, Dr. Steilsson."

"Thank you," he said, managing to sound calm despite the anxious way he perched at the edge of his seat, like he was getting ready to run when the mortars started dropping.

"Dr. Steilsson. The Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology. Am I correct in stating that this is a government-funded organization dedicated to the study of what I believe you've called alternate forms of human beings? Vampires, werewolves, et cetera?"

"Only in the simplest terms. The nature of the research was not always explicitly stated."

"You couldn't exactly put down 'Give me money for werewolves,' could you?"

"Ah, no," he said, giving me the tiniest smile.

"So this was a _secret_ government research program."

"I don't know that I'd go that far. I don't want to enter the realm of conspiracy theory. The Center's findings were always available."

"But in the most obscure outlets. No attention was drawn to a potentially explosive area of research. I would have thought. as part of this research team, you'd have wanted to announce your findings a lot sooner."

"It's not so simple. You can appreciate what we risked at great amount of criticism if we drew too much attention before we were ready. We needed to have data in hand, and a good potential of public support. Otherwise we would have be relegated to the back pages of the annals of bad science."

"In your mind, this is clearly a scientific endeavor."

"Of course. The best way to approach any line of inquiry is through the scientific method."

I was quite fond of postmodern literary analysis myself, as a line of inquiry. "What drew you to the scientific study of a subject that most people are all too happy to dismiss as folklore?"

"So many legends have a seed of truth. In many cases, that seed of truth persists, even in the face of great skepticism. The existence of a real-life King Arthur for example. How many legitimate historical and archaeological investigations have been inspired by Arthurian literature? Vampire and shape-shifter legends exist all over the world, and I've always been struck by the similarities. I simply pursued the seeds of truth at their core."

I said, "I read a book once about how many vampire mythologies might have grown out of primitive burial practices and superstitions- bloated corpses bursting out of shallow graves with drops of blood on their mouths, as if they'd been feeding. That sort of thing. By the same token, some scholars traced werewolf legends to actual medical conditions marked by excessive hair growth, or psychological disorders that caused periodic animalistic, berserker-type behavior. That's where scientific inquiry into these subjects usually leads: to rationalizations. What told you that there was something real behind it all?" I was fishing for a personal anecdote. He'd had a run-in with a were-fox of the arctic variety as a small child and it changed him forever, or something. A chance encounter with some aquatic supernatural creature. I knew he lived in Iceland as a child before coming to America.

"I suppose I've always appreciated a good mystery," he said.

"But there are so many other mysteries for a medical doctor to unravel. Like a cure for cancer. Surefire weight loss on a diet of chocolate ice cream." What I wouldn't give for something like that.

"Maybe I wanted to break new ground."

"Why now? Why last month's press conference? Why draw attention to your research at this point and not earlier?"

He shrugged and began obviously fidgeting- wringing his hands, adjusting his seat. I felt a little thrill- was I getting to him? Was I making him squirm? Maybe he was just shifting his position on the chair.

"Ideally, a complete report would have been published in a respected journal, making all of our findings public. But this isn't always an ideal world. Members of congress began taking an interest, and if Congress wants to ask questions, who am I to argue? I wanted everyone to be clear that this project isn't shrouded in secrecy."

Could have fooled me. In a rare show of restraint I didn't say that. I had to be nice: wouldn't do any good to totally alienate my only source of information.

"What do you ultimately hope to accomplish with the Center?"

"To expand the boundaries of knowledge. Why embark on any scientific endeavor?"

"The quest for truth."

"It's what we're all trying to accomplish, isn't it?"

"In my experience, this particular subject evokes a lot of strong emotion. People vehemently believe in the existence of vampires, or they don't. If they do, they firmly believe vampires are evil, or they're simply victims of a rare disease. Where does emotion, these strong beliefs, fit into your investigations?"

"We approach this subject only from the standpoint of fact. What can be measured."

"So if I asked you what you _believe_-"

"I think you know what I believe: I'm studying diseases that can be quantified."

This was starting to sound circular. And dull. I should have known that Steilsson wouldn't be an ideal interviewee. Every time I'd ever talked to him, he'd been evasive. I'd really have to work to draw him out.

"Tell me how you felt the first time you looked a werewolf in the eyes."

Until that moment, he hadn't looked at me. That was pretty normal; there was a lot in a studio booth to distract a newcomer: dials, lights, and buttons. It was natural to look at what you spoke to. People tended to look at the foam head of the microphone.

But now he looked at me, and I looked back, brows raised, urging him on. His gaze was narrow, inquiring, studying me. Like he'd just seen me for the first time, or seen me in a new light. Like I was suddenly one of the subjects in his study, and he was holding me up against the statistics he'd collected.

It was a challenging stare. he smelled totally human, a little bit of sweat, a little bit of wool from his jacket, not a touch of supernatural about him. But I had a sudden urge to growl a warning. Wolf's hackles rose. With a mental hand, I soothed Wolf back down.

"I don't see how that's relevant," he said.

"Of course it isn't relevant, but this show is supposed to be entertaining. I'm curious. How about a cold hard fact: _when_ was the first time you looked a werewolf in the eyes?"

"I suppose it would have been about fifteen years ago." Wow, that long? He must have been older than he looked. Less my age and more Arthur's or something. The guy didn't look as old as he was either.

"This was before you started working with the Center for the Study of Paranatural Biology?"

"Yes. I was in the middle of a pathology residency in New York. We'd gotten an anomalous blood sample from a victim of a car accident. The report from the emergency room was horrendous- crushed rib cage, collapsed lungs, ruptured organs. The man shouldn't have survived, but he did. Somehow they patched him up. I was supposed to be looking for drug intoxication, blood alcohol levels. I didn't find anything like that, but the white blood cell count was abnormal for a sample with no other sign of disease or infection. I went to see this patient in the ICU the next day, to draw another sample and check for any conditions that might have accounted for the anomaly. He wasn't there. He'd been moved out of the ICU, because two days after this terrible accident, he was sitting up, off the ventilator, off oxygen, like he'd just had a concussion or something. I remember looking at his chart, the looking up at him, my mouth open with shock. And he smiled. Almost like he wanted to burst out laughing. He seemed to be daring me to figure out what had happened. I didn't know what he was at the time, but I'll never forget that look in his eyes. He was the only one who wasn't shocked that he was still alive. I never forgot that look. It made me realize that for all my knowledge, for all my studies and abilities, there was a whole world out there that I knew nothing about."

"And the next time you saw that look" -the challenge, the call to prove one's dominance, like the one I'd just given him- "you recognized it."

"That's right."

"Did you ever find out more about him? Did he ever tell you what he was?"

"No. He checked himself out of the hospital the next day. He didn't have health insurance, so I couldn't track him. He probably didn't think he needed it."

I'd seen werewolves die. It took ripping their hearts out, tearing their heads off, or poisoning them with silver.

"You wanted to find out how he'd survived. How his wounds had healed so quickly."

"Of course."

"Is that as far as your research goes? You mentioned once the possibility of a cure."

"Every scientist who studies a disease want to find the cure for it. But we don't even understand these diseases yet. Finding a cure may be some time off, and I don't want to raise any hopes."

"How close are you to understanding them? I've heard every kind of theory about what causes them, from viral DNA to unbalanced humors."

"That's just it, the most interesting feature of these diseases is that they don't act like diseases. Yes, they're infectious, they alter the body from its natural form. But far from causing damage or sickness, they actually make their victims stronger. In the case of vampirism, the disease grants near immortality, with relatively innocuous side effects."

He called the need to drink human blood an innocuous side effect?

He continued. "To learn the secret of how that happens would be a fantastic discovery."

"You're talking about medical applications."

He hesitated again, folding his hands on the table in front of him and visibly reining back his enthusiasm. "As I said, I don't want to raise any hopes. We've barely begun to scratch the surface of this field of study."

I had a feeling that was all I was going to get out of him.

"Okay, I'm going to open the lines for calls now. Do you have any questions for the good doctor-"

His eyes bugged out, like I'd pulled out a gun and pointed it at him. Surely he knew I'd be taking questions from listeners.

Shaking his head, he said, "I'd rather not answer questions from the public."

Um, problem? "I'm the public," I said. "You answered my questions."

"No, not like this," he said. He put down the headset and pushed his chair away from the table. "I'm sorry."

Aloise, Feliciano, and the sound guy stared through the booth window, helpless to stop him as he set his shoulders and rushed out of the room.

"Wait, Doctor-" I stood to go after him. Who did that bastard think he was, walking out on me? The wire trailing from my headset tugged at me. The show, I couldn't leave the show. Damn. I settled back into my seat. I had to talk quick to cover up the silence. "I'm sorry, it looks like Dr. Steilsson has urgent business elsewhere and won't be able to answer your questions. But I'm still here, and ready for the first call of the evening. Hello, Brandy from Portland…"

* * *

_Well, well, well, our mysterious doctor? What do you think? I personally think that Aloise and Feliciano are super cute. :D_

_Sorry to leave it on such a cliff hanger, my dearies :3 But all will be revealed with time... yes... lots of irons in the fire. All the sick fires, yes..._

_Once again, any show of support makes me so very happy. Reviews, follows, favorites, reviews... did I mention reviews? Yes, those make me very happy. Anyways, see you next Friday, faithful readers!_


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